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THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


3Y THE SAME AUTHORS 


THE HAMPSTEAD 
MYSTERY 

“The care with which the story 
is written, the complicated plot and 
the clash of the different practices 

■•s. 

of man-hunters lift it out of the 
common run of mystery tales and 
make it an absorbing book.” 

Philadelphia Press. 


NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY 

LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD 



THE MYSTERY 
OF THE DOWNS 

a>xsv.,. yf 

■ By WATSON & ,REES 

A 'V > . 

AUTHORS OF “tHE HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY,” ETC. 



NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY 
LONDON: JOHN LANE, The BODLEY HEAD 
TORONTO: S. B. GUNDY 

MCMXVIII 




Copyright, 1918, by 
JOHN LANE COMPANY 


Prospect Press, Inc. 
New York, U.S.A. 


FEB -4 1918 



A;481503 


. I 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


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CHAPTER I 


The storm had descended swiftly, sweeping in sud- 
denly from the sea, driving across the downs to the 
hills at high speed, blotting out the faint rays of a 
crescent moon and hiding the country-side beneath a 
pall of blackness, which was forked at intervals by 
flashes of lightning. 

The darkness was so impenetrable, and the fury of 
the storm so fierce, that Harry Marsland pulled his 
hat well over his eyes and bent over his horse’s neck 
to shield his face from the driving rain, trusting to 
the animal’s sagacity and sure-footedness to take him 
safely down the cliff road in the darkness, where a slip 
might plunge them into the breakers which he could 
hear roaring at the foot of the cliffs. 

Hardly had Marsland done so when his horse 
swerved violently right across the road — fortunately 
to the side opposite the edge of the cliff s^slipped 
and almost fell, but recovered itself and then stood 
still, snorting and trembling with fear. 

He patted and spoke to the horse, wondering what 
had frightened it. He had seen or heard nothing, but 
the darkness of the night and the roar of the gale 
would have prevented him, even if his face had not 
been almost buried in his horse’s neck. However, the 
rain, beating with sharp persistence on his face and 
through his, clothes, reminded him that he was some 
% 


8 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


miles from shelter on a lonely country road, with 
only a vague idea of his whereabouts. So, with 
a few more soothing words, he urged his horse on- 
ward again. The animal responded willingly enough, 
but as soon as it moved Marsland discovered to his 
dismay that it was lame in the off hind leg. The 
rider was quick to realize that it must have sprained 
itself in swerving. 

He slipped out of the saddle and endeavoured to 
feel the extent of the horse’s injury, but the animal 
had not entirely recovered from its fright, and snorted 
as his master touched it. Marsland desisted, and 
gently pulled at the bridle. 

The horse struggled onwards a few paces, but it was 
badly lamed, and could not be ridden. It thrust a 
timid muzzle against its master’s breast, as though 
seeking refuge from its fears and the fury of the 
storm. Marsland patted its head caressingly, and, fac- 
ing the unpleasant fact that he was on an unknown 
lonely road with a lame horse in the worst storm he 
had ever seen, drew the bridle over his arm and started 
to walk forward. 

He found it difficult to make progress in the teeth 
of the gale, but he realized that it would be useless to 
retrace his steps with the wind at his back, for only 
the bleak bare downs he had ridden over that after- 
noon lay behind, and the only house he had seen was 
a shepherd’s cottage on the hill-side where he had 
stopped to inquire his way before the storm came on. 
There was nothing to be done but face the gale and 
go forward, following the cliff road which skirted 
the downs, or to seek shelter for himself and his horse 
at the way-side house until the fury of the storm had 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


9 


abated. Prudence and consideration for his horse 
dictated the latter course, but in the blackness of the 
night — which hung before him like a cloud — he was 
unable to discern a twinkle of light denoting human 
habitation. 

The storm seemed to gather fresh force, rushing in 
from the sea with such fury that Marsland was com- 
pelled to stand still and seek shelter beside his horse. 
As he stood thus, waiting for it to abate, a vivid flash 
of lightning ran across the western sky, revealing 
lividly the storm clouds flying through the heavens, 
the mountainous yellow-crested sea, and the desolate, 
rain-beaten downs ; but it revealed, also, a farm-house 
standing in the valley below, a little way back from 
the road which wound down towards it from where 
Marsland stood. 

The lightning died away, the scene it had illumined 
disappeared, and a clap of thunder followed. Mars- 
land heaved a sigh of relief. He judged that the 
house was less than half a mile down the hill, a 
large, gaunt, three-storied stone building, with 
steeply sloping roof, standing back from the road, 
with a barn beside it. Doubtless it was , the home 
of a sheep-farmer of the downs, who would at any 
rate afford shelter to himself and his horse till the 
violence of the storm had passed. 

The horse responded to an encouraging appeal as 
though it fully understood, and Marsland doggedly 
resumed his battle with the storm. The road slanted 
away slightly from the cliff when horse and rider 
had covered another hundred yards, and wound 
through a long cutting on the hill which afforded some 
protection from the gale, enabling them to make 


10 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


quicker progress. But still Marsland could not see a 
yard in front of him. Even if his eyes had become 
accustomed to the darkness, the heavy rain, beating 
almost horizontally on his face, would have prevented 
him seeing anything. 

He had matches in his pocket, but it was useless 
to attempt to strike them in such a wind, and he re- 
proached himself for having come away without his 
electric torch. Slowly and cautiously he made his way 
down the road, feeling his footsteps as he went, the 
tired horse following obediently. The cutting seemed 
a long one, but at length a sudden blast of wind, roar- 
ing in from the sea, told him that he had emerged into 
the open again. He counted off another hundred 
paces, then paused anxiously. 

"‘The house ought to be somewhere on the left down 
there,” he muttered, staring blindly into the dark. 

He wondered in an irritated fashion why there 
were no lights showing from the farm-house, which 
he felt must be very close to where he stood. But he 
recollected that farmers kept early hours, and he real- 
ized that the occupants of the house might well be 
excused for going to bed on such a night even earlier 
than usual. 

As though in answer to an unspoken wish, a flash of 
lightning played over the sky. It was faint and fitful, 
but it was sufficient to reveal the farm standing a 
little way ahead, about a hundred yards back from the 
road. He saw clearly the hedge which divided its 
meadows from the road, and noted that a gate leading 
into a wagon drive on the side of the meadow nearest 
him had been flung open by the force of the gale, and 
was swinging loosely on its hinges. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


II 


'They’ll thank me for closing that gate if they’ve 
got any stock in the meadows,” said Marsland. 

The swinging white gate was faintly visible in the 
darkness when Marsland came close to it, and he 
turned into the open drive. He noticed as he walked 
along that the gale was not so severely felt inside as 
out on the road, and he came to the conclusion that 
the farm was in a more sheltered part of the downs — 
was probably shielded from the wind by the hill 
through which the cutting ran. 

He reflected that it was a good idea to build in a 
sheltered spot when farming on low downs facing the 
English Channel. He was glad to be able to walk 
upright, with the wind behind him and the rain on 
his back instead of beating on his face. For one 
thing, he found he was able to make some use of his 
eyes in spite of the darkness, and soon he discerned 
the house looming bleakly ahead of him, with the 
barn alongside. 

As Marsland passed the barn, his horse surprised 
him by whinnying sharply and plucking the loose 
bridle from his arm. He felt for his matchbox and 
hastily struck a match. The wind extinguished it, but 
not before its brief splutter of light showed him the 
horse disappearing through an open doorway. 

He followed it and struck another match. It flared 
up steadily under cover, and he saw that he was in a 
small storehouse attached to the barn. Gardening 
tools were neatly piled in one corner, and in 
another were a stack of potatoes and some bags of 
grain. His horse was plucking ravenously at one of 
the bags. By the light of another match Marsland 
espied an old lantern hanging on a nail above the tools. 


12 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


He took it from the nail, and found that it contained 
a short end of candle — a sight which filled him with 
pleasure. 

He found a tin dish on top of the cornstack, opened 
one of the bags, poured a measure of oats into it, and 
set it before his horse. The animal eagerly thrust 
his nose into the dish and commenced to eat. Mars- 
land patted its wet flank, and then examined the in- 
jured leg by the light of the lantern. His examina- 
tion failed to reveal any specific injury beyond a slight 
swelling, though the horse winced restively as he 
touched it. 

Marsland left the horse munching contentedly at its 
food, shut the door of the storehouse to prevent the 
animal wandering away, and set out for the house. 
The light of the lantern showed him a path branching 
off the drive. He followed it till the outline of the 
house loomed before him out of the darkness. 

The path led across the front of the house, but 
Marsland looked in vain for a ray of light in the 
upper stories which would indicate that one of the 
inmates was awake. He walked on till the path turned 
abruptly into a large porch, and he knew he had 
reached the front door. Instead of knocking, he 
walked past the porch in order to see if there was any 
light visible on the far side of the house. It was with 
pleasure that he observed a light glimmering through 
the second window on the ground floor. Judging by 
the position of the window, it belonged to the room 
immediately behind the front room on the right side 
of the house. 

Marsland returned to the porch and vigorously 
plied the knocker on the door, so that the sound should 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 13 

be heard above the storm. He listened anxiously for 
approaching footsteps of heavily-shod feet, but the 
first sound he heard was that of the bolt being drawn 
back. 

'‘Where have you been?’’ exclaimed a feminine 
voice. “I have been wondering what could have hap- 
pened to you.” 

The girl who had opened the door to him had a 
candle in her hand. As she spoke, she shielded the 
light with her other hand and lifted it to his face. She 
uttered a startled exclamation. 

“I beg your pardon,” said Marsland, in an ingrati- 
ating tone. “I have lost my way and my horse has 
gone lame. I have taken the liberty of putting him 
in the outbuildings before coming to ask you for 
shelter from the storm.” 

"To ask me?” she repeated. "Oh, of course. Please 
come in.” 

Marsland closed the door and followed her into the 
dark and silent hall. She led the way into the room 
where he had seen the light, placed the candle on the 
table, and retreated to a chair which was in the 
shadow. It occurred to him that she was anxious to 
study him without being exposed to his scrutiny./ But 
he had noticed that she was wearing a hat and a dark 
cloak. These things suggested to him that she had 
been on the point of going out when the storm came 
on. The mistaken way in which she had greeted him 
on opening the door seemed to show that she had 
been waiting for some one who was to have accom- 
panied her. Apparently she was alone in the house 
when he had knocked. 

"I am sorry to have intruded on you in this uncere- 


14 the mystery of the downs 

monious way/’ he said, reviving his apology with the 
object of enabling her to dismiss any fears at her own 
unprotected state. ‘T am completely lost, and when 
I saw this house I thought the best thing I could do 
was to seek shelter.” 

'‘You are not intruding upon me,” she said coldly. 
“The house is not mine — I do not live here. I saw 
the storm coming on, and, like you, I thought it was 
a good idea to seek shelter.” 

It was apparent to him that her greeting had been 
intended for some one who had accompanied her to 
the house and had gone to one of the farm buildings 
for some purpose. He noted that her manner of 
speaking was that of a well-bred young lady rather 
than of a farmer’s daughter. 

The room in which they were sitting was evidently 
used as a parlour, and was sombrely furnished in an 
old-fashioned way. There was a horsehair suite, and 
in the middle of the room a large round table. Glanc- 
ing about him into the dark corners of the room which 
the feeble light of the candle barely reached, Mars- 
land noticed in one of them a large lamp standing on 
a small table. 

“That will give us a better light,” he said ; “provid- 
ing, of course, it has some oil in it.” 

He lifted the lamp to the centre table, and found it 
was nearly full of oil. He lit it, and it sent out a 
strong light, which was, however, confined to a radius 
of a few feet by a heavy lampshade. He glanced at 
the girl. She had extinguished her candle, and her 
face remained obstinately in shadow. 

He sat down on one of the horsehair chairs ; but his 
companion remained standing a little distance away^ 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 15 

They waited in silence thus for some minutes. Mars- 
land tried to think of something to say, but there was 
a pensive aloofness about the girl’s attitude which de- 
terred him from attempting to open a conversation 
with a conventional remark about the violence of the 
storm. He listened for a knock at the front door 
which would tell him that her companion had re- 
turned, but to his surprise the minutes passed without 
any sign. He thought of asking her to sit down, but 
he reflected that such an invitation might savour of 
impertinence. He could dimly see the outline of her 
profile, and judged her to be young and pretty. Once 
he thought she glanced in his direction, but when he 
looked towards her she had her face still turned to- 
wards the door. Finally he made another effort to 
break down the barrier of silence between them. 

'T suppose we must wait here until the storm has 
cleared away,” he began. “It is a coincidence that 
both of us should have sought shelter in this empty 
house in the storm — I assume the house is empty for 
the time being or we would have heard from the 
inmates. My name is Marsland. I have been staying 
at Staveley, and I lost my way when out riding this 
afternoon — the downs seem endless. Perhaps you 
belong to the neighbourhood and know them thor- 
oughly.” 

But instead of replying she made a swift step to- 
wards the door. 

“Listen!” she cried. “What was that?” 

He stood up also, and listened intently, but the 
only sounds that met his ears were the beating of the 
rain against the windows and the wind whistling 
mournfully round the old house. 


i6 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


‘T hear nothing ” he commenced. 

But she interrupted him imperatively. 

“Hush!’’ she cried. “Listen!” Her face was still 
turned away from him, but she held out a hand in his 
direction as though to enjoin silence. 

They stood in silence, both listening intently. Some- 
where a board creaked, and Marsland could hear the 
wind blowing, but that was all. 

“I do not think it was anything,” he said reassur- 
ingly. “These old houses have a way of creaking and 
groaning in a gale. You have become nervous 
through sitting here by yourself.” 

“Perhaps that is so,” she assented, in a friendlier 
tone than she had hitherto used. “But I thought — 
in fact, I felt — that somebody was moving about 
stealthily overhead.” 

“It was the wind sighing about the house,” he said, 
sitting down again. 

As he spoke, there was a loud crash in a room 
above — a noise as though china or glass had been 
broken. Marsland sprang to his feet. 

“There is somebody in the house,” he exclaimed. 

“Who can it be?” she whispered. 

“Probably some one who has more right here than 
we have,” said Marsland soothingly. “He’ll come 
downstairs and then we’ll have to explain our presence 
here.” 

“The man who lives here is away,” she replied, in 
a hushed tone of terror. “He lives here alone. If 
there is anybody in the house, it is some one who has 
no right here.” 

“If you are sure of that,” said Marsland slowly, “I 
will go and see what has happened in the room above. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 17 

The wind may have knocked something over. Will 
you stay here until I return ?” 

''No, no!” she cried, 'T am too frightened now. I 
will go with you!” 

He felt her hand on his sleeve as she spoke. 

"In that case we may as well take this lamp,” he 
said. “It will give more light than this.” He put 
down his lantern and picked up the lamp from the 
table. "Come along, and see what havoc the wind has 
been playing with the furniture upstairs.” 

He led the way out of the room, carefully carrying 
the lamp, and the girl followed. They turned up the 
hall to the staircase. As the light of the lamp fell on 
the staircase they saw a piece of paper lying on one 
of the lower stairs. Marsland picked it up and was 
so mystified at what he saw on it that he placed the 
lamp on a stair above in order to study it more closely. 

"What can this extraordinary thing mean?” he said 
to his companion. He put his left hand in the top 
pocket of his waistcoat, and then exclaimed : "I have 
lost my glasses ; I cannot make this out without them.” 

She came close to him and looked at tfie paper. 

The sheet was yellow with age, and one side of it 
was covered with figures and writing. There was a 
row of letters at the top of the sheet, followed by a cir- 
cle of numerals, with more numerals in the centre of 
the circle. Underneath the circle appeared several 
verses of Scripture written in a small, cramped, but 
regular handwriting. The ink which had been used 
in constructing the cryptogram was faded brown with 
age, but the figures and the writing were clear and legi- 
ble, and the whole thing bore evidence of patient and 
careful construction. 


i8 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


^^This is very strange/^ she said, in a frightened 
whisper. 

Marsland thought she was referring to the diagrams 
on the paper. 

‘Tt is a mysterious sort of document, whoever owns 
it,” he said. “I think I’ll put it on the table in there 
and we will study it again when we come down after 
exploring the other parts of the house.” 

He picked up the lamp and went back to the room 
they had left. He deposited the sheet of paper on the 
table and placed the candlestick on it to keep it from 
being blown away by the wind. 

‘‘Now for the ghosts upstairs,” he said cheerfully, 
as he returned. 

He noted with a smile that his companion made a 
point of keeping behind him in all his movements. 
When they had climbed the first flight of stairs, they 
stood for a moment or two on the landing, listening, 
but could hear no sound. 

“Let us try this room first,” said Marsland, pointing 
to a door opposite the landing. 

The door was closed but not shut, for it yielded to 
his touch and swung open, revealing a large bedroom 
with an old-fashioned fourposter in the corner furth- 
est from the door. Marsland glanced round the room 
curiously. It was the typical “best bedroom” of an 
old English farm-house, built more than a hundred 
years before the present generation came to life, with 
their modern ideas of fresh air and light and sanita- 
tion. The ceiling was so low that Marsland almost 
touched it with his head as he walked, and the small 
narrow-paned windows, closely shuttered from with- 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 19 

out, looked as though they had been hermetically sealed 
for centuries. 

The room contained furniture as ancient as its sur- 
roundings : quaint old chests of drawers, bureaux, 
clothes-presses, and some old straight-backed oaken 
chairs. On the walls were a few musty old books on 
shelves, a stuffed pointer in a glass case, a cabinet of 
stuffed birds, some dingy hunting prints. The com- 
bination of low ceiling, sealed windows, and stuffed 
animals created such a vault-like atmosphere that 
Marsland marvelled at the hardy constitution of that 
dead and gone race of English yeomen who had suf- 
fered nightly internment in such chambers and yet 
survived to a ripe old age. His eyes wandered to 
the fourposter, and he smiled as he noticed that the 
heavy curtains were drawn close, as though the last 
sleeper in the chamber had dreaded and guarded 
against the possibility of some stray shaft of fresh 
air eluding the precautions of the builder and finding 
its way into the room. 

“Nothing here,” he said, as he glanced round the 
floor of the room for broken pieces of glass or china 
ornaments that might have been knocked over by the 
wind or by a cat. “Let us try the room opposite.” 

She was the first to reach the door of the opposite 
room to which they turned. It occurred to Marsland 
that her fears were wearing off. As he reached the 
threshold, he lifted up the lamp above his head so 
that its light should fall within. 

The room was a bedroom also, deep and narrow 
as though it had been squeezed into the house as an 
afterthought, with a small, deep-set window high up 
in the wall opposite the door. The room was fur- 


20 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


nished in the old-fashioned style of the room op- 
posite, though more sparsely. But Marsland and the 
girl were astonished to see a man sitting motionless in 
a large arm-chair at the far end of the room. His 
head had fallen forward on his breast as though in 
slumber, concealing the lower part of his face. 

‘‘By heavens, this is extraordinary,^’ said Marsland, 
in a low hoarse voice. With a trembling hand he 
placed the lamp on the large table which occupied the 
centre of the room and stood looking at the man. 

The girl crept close to Marsland and clutched his 
arm. 

“It is Frank Lumsden,” she whispered quickly. “Do 
you think there is anything wrong with him? Why 
doesn’t he speak to us?” 

“Because he is dead,” he answered swiftly. 

“Dead !” she exclaimed, in an hysterical tone. 
“What makes you think so? He may be only in a fit. 
Oh, what shall we do?” 

Marsland pushed her aside and with a firm step 
walked to the chair on which the motionless figure 
sat. He touched with his fingers the left hand which 
rested on the arm of the chair, and turned quickly. 

“He is quite dead,” he said slowly. “He is beyond 
all help in this world.” 

“Dead?” she repeated, retreating to the far end 
of the table and clasping her trembling hands together. 
“What a dreadful lonely death.” 

He was deep in thought and did not respond to 
her words. 

“As we have discovered the body we must inform 
the police,” he said at length. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 21 


‘T did not know he was ill,” she said, in a soft 
whisper. ‘'He must have died suddenly.” 

Marsland turned on her a searching questioning 
look. Her sympathy had conquered her vague fears 
of the presence of death, and she hesitatingly ap- 
proached the body. Something on the table near the 
lamp attracted her attention. It was an open pocket- 
book and beside it were some papers which had evi- 
dently been removed from it. 

“What does this mean ?” she cried. “Some one has 
been here.” 

“It is extraordinary,” said Marsland. 

He stood between her and the arm-chair so as to 
hide the dead body from her. She stepped aside as 
if to seek in the appearance of the dead man an 
explanation of the rifled pocket-book. 

“Don’t!” he said quickly, as he grasped her by 
the arm. “Do not touch it.” 

His desire to save her from a shock awoke her 
feminine intuition. 

“You mean he has been murdered?” she whispered, 
in a voice of dismay. 


CHAPTER II 


She hurried from the room in terror. Marsland 
remained a few minutes examining the papers that 
had been taken from the pocket-book. 

With the lamp in his hand he was compelled to 
descend cautiously, and when he reached the foot 
of the staircase the girl had left the house. He ex- 
tinguished the lamp he was carrying, relit the lantern, 
and stepped outside. The lantern showed him the 
girl waiting for him some distance down the path. 

“Oh, let us leave this dreadful house,” she cried as 
he approached. “Please take me out of it. I am 
not frightened of the storm — now.” 

“I will take you wherever you wish to go,” he said 
gently. “Will you tell me where you live? I will 
accompany you home.” 

“You are very good,” she said gratefully. “I live 
at Ashlingsea.” 

“That is the little fishing village at the end of the 
cliff road, is it not?” he said inquiringly. “I am 
staying at Staveley, but I have not been there long. 
Come, I will take you home, and then I will inform 
the police about — this tragic discovery.” 

“There is a police station at Ashlingsea,” she said, 
in a low voice. 

He explained to her that he wanted to look after 
the comfort of his horse before he accompanied her 
home, as it would be necessary to leave the animal 


22 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 23 

at the farm until the following day. She murmured 
a faint acquiescence, and when they reached the store- 
house she took the lantern from him without speaking, 
and held it up to give him light while he made his 
horse comfortable for the night. 

They then set out for Ashlingsea. The violence of 
the storm had passed, but the wind occasionally blew 
in great gusts from the sea, compelling them to halt 
in order to stand up against it. The night was 
still very black, but at intervals a late moon man- 
aged to send a watery beam through the scudding 
storm clouds, revealing the pathway of the winding 
cliff road, and the turbulent frothing waste of water 
dashing on the rocks below. Rain continued to fall 
in heavy frequent showers, but the minds of Marsland 
and his companion were so occupied with what they 
had seen in the old farm-house that they were scarcely 
conscious of the discomfort of getting wet. 

The girl was so unnerved by the discovery of the 
dead body that she was glad to avail herself of the 
protection and support of Marsland’s arm. Several 
times as she thought she saw a human form in the 
darkness of the road, she uttered a cry of alarm and 
clung to his arm with both hands. At every step she 
expected to encounter a maniac who had the blood 
of one human creature on his hands and was still 
swayed by the impulse to kill. 

The reserve she had exhibited in the house had 
broken down, and she talked freely in her desire to 
shut out from her mental vision the spectacle of the 
murdered man sitting in the arm-chair. 

On the other hand, the discovery of the body had 
made Marsland reserved and thoughtful. 


24 the mystery of the downs 

He learned from her that her name was Maynard — 
Elsie Maynard — and that she lived with her widowed 
mother. Marsland was quick to gather from the cul- 
tivated accents of her voice that she was a refined 
and educated girl.. He concluded that Mrs. Maynard 
must be a lady of some social standing in the district, 
and he judged from what he had seen of the girl’s 
clothes that she was in good circumstances. She re- 
marked that her mother would be anxious about her, 
but would doubtless assume she had sought shelter 
somewhere, as having lived in Ashlingsea for a long 
time she knew everybody in the district. 

Marsland thought it strange that she made no refer- 
ence to the companion who had accompanied her to 
the farm. If no one accompanied her, how was it 
that on opening the door to him she had greeted him 
as some one whom she had been expecting? She 
seemed unconscious of the need of enlightening him 
on this point. Her thoughts centred round the dead 
man to such an extent that her conversation related 
chiefly to him. Half-unconsciously she revealed that 
she knew him well, but her acquaintance with him 
seemed to be largely based on the circumstance that 
the dead man had been acquainted with a friend of 
her family: a soldier of the new army, who lived at 
Staveley. 

She had told Marsland that the name of the mur- 
dered man was Frank Lumsden, but she did not men- 
tion the name of the soldier at Staveley. Lumsden 
had served in France as a private, but had returned 
wounded and had been invalided out of the army. 
He had been captured by the Germans during a night 
attack, had been shot through the palm of his right 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 25 

hand to prevent him using a rifle again, and had been 
left behind when the Germans were forced to retreat 
from the village they had captured. After being in- 
valided out of the Army he had returned home to live 
in the old farm-house — Cliff Farm it was called — 
which had been left to him by his grandfather, who 
had died while the young man was in France. The 
old man had lived in a state of terror during the last 
few months of his life, as he was convinced that the 
Germans were going to invade England, destroy every- 
thing, and murder the population as they had done in 
Belgium. He ceased to farm his land, he dismissed 
his men, and shut himself up in his house. 

His housekeeper, Mrs. Thorpe, who had been in his 
service for thirty years, refused to leave him, and 
insisted on remaining to look after him. When he 
died as the result of injuries received in falling down- 
stairs, it was found that he had left most of his prop- 
erty to his grandson, Frank, but he had also left 
legacies to Mrs. Thorpe and two of the men who had 
been in his employ for a generation. But these 
legacies had not been paid because there was no 
money with which to pay them. Soon after the out- 
break of the war the old man had drawn all his money 
out of the bank and had realized all his investments. 
It was thought that he had done this because of his 
fear of a German invasion. 

What he had done with the money no one knew. 
Most people thought he had buried it for safety, in- 
tending to dig it up when the war was oven There 
was a rumour that he had buried it on the farm. An- 
other rumour declared that he had buried it in the 
sands at the foot of the cliffs, for towards the end 


26 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


of his life he was often seen walking alone on the 
sands. In his younger days he had combined fishing 
with farming, and there was still a boat in the old 
boat-house near the cliffs. Several people tried dig- 
ging in likely places in the sands after his death, but 
they did not find any trace of the money. Other peo- 
ple said that Frank Lumsden knew where the money 
was hidden — that his grandfather had left a plan ex- 
plaining where he had buried it. 

“What about the piece of paper with the mysterious 
plan on it which we found on the staircase?” said 
Marsland. “Do you think that had anything to do 
with the hidden money?” 

“I never thought of that,” she said. “Perhaps it 
had.” 

“We left it on the table in the room downstairs,” 
he said. “I think we ought to go back for it, as it 
may have something to do with the murder.” 

“Don’t go back,” she said. “I could not bear to 
go back. The paper will be there when the police 
go. No one will go there in the meantime, so it will 
be quite safe.” 

“But you remember that his pocket-book had been 
rifled,” he said, as he halted to discuss the question of 
returning. “May not that plan have been taken from 
his pocket-book after he was dead?” 

“But in that case how did it come on the staircase?” 

“It was dropped there by the man who stole it 
from the pocket-book.” j 

“He will be too frightened to go back for it,” she 
declared confidently. “He would be afraid of being 
caught.” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 27 


‘'But he may have been in the house while we were 
there/’ he replied. “We did not solve the mystery of 
the crash we heard when we were in the room up- 
stairs.” 

“You said at the time it was possibly caused by the 
wind upsetting something.” 

He was amused at the inconsequence of the line of 
reasoning she adopted in order to prevent him going 
back for the plan. 

“At the time we did not know there was a dead 
body upstairs/’ he said. 

“Do you think the murderer was in the house 
while we were there ?” she asked. 

“It is impossible to say definitely. My own impres- 
sion now is that some one was in the house — that the 
crash we heard was not caused by the wind.” 

“Then he must have been there while I was sitting 
downstairs before you came,” she said, with a shiver 
at the thought of the danger that was past. 

“Yes,” he answered. “The fact that you had a 
candle alight kept him upstairs. He was afraid of 
discovery. When we went upstairs to the first floor 
he must have retreated to the second floor — the top 
story.” 

She remained deep in thought for a few moments.^ 

“I am glad he did not come down,” she said at 
length. “I am glad I did not see who it was.” 

Again Marsland was reminded of the way in which 
she had greeted him at the door. Could it be that, 
instead of having gone to the farm for shelter with 
a companion, she had gone there to meet some one, 
and that unknown to her the person she was to meet 


28 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


had reached the house before her and had remained 
hidden upstairs? 

“Did you close the front door when we left?’* she 
asked. 

“Yes. I slammed it and I heard the bolt catch. 
Why do you ask?” 

“There is something I want to ask you,” she said, 
at length. 

“What is it?” 

“I want you to promise if you can that you will 
not tell the police that I was at Cliff Farm to- 
night; I want you to promise that you will not tell 
any one.” 

“Do you think it — wise?” he asked, after a pause 
in which he gave consideration to the request. 

“I do not want to be mixed up in it in any way,” 
she explained. “The tragedy will give rise to a lot of 
talk in the place. I would not like my name to be 
mixed up in it.” 

“I quite appreciate that,” he said. “And as far as it 
goes I would be willing to keep your name out of it. 
But have you considered what the effect would be if 
the police subsequently discovered that you had been 
there? That would give rise to greater talk — to talk 
^ a still more objectionable kind.” 

*“Yes; but how are they to discover that I was 
there unless you tell them?” she asked. 

He laughed softly. 

“They have to try to solve a more difficult problem 
than that without any one to tell them the solution,” 
he said. “They have to try to find out who killed this 
man Lumsden — and why he was killed. There will 
be two or three detectives making all sorts of in- 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


29 


quiries. One of them might alight accidentally on 
the fact that you, like myself, had taken shelter there 
in the storm.” 

She took refuge in the privilege of her sex to place 
a man in the wrong by misinterpreting his motives. 

*‘Of course, if you do not wish to do it, there is 
no reason why you should.” She removed her hand 
from his arm. 

He pulled her up with a sharpness which left on 
her mind the impression that he was a man who 
knew his own mind. 

' ‘Please understand that I am anxious to do the 
best I can for you without being absurdly quixotic 
about it. I am quite willing to keep your name out 
of it in the way you ask, but I am anxious that you 
should first realize the danger of the course you sug- 
gest. It seems to me that, in order to avoid the 
unpleasantness of allowing it to be publicly known that 
you shared with me the discovery of this tragedy, you 
are courting the graver danger which would attach to 
the subsequent difficulty of offering a simple and sat- 
isfactory explanation to the police of why you wanted 
to keep your share in the discovery an absolute secret. 
And you must remember that your explanation to me 
of how you came to the farm is rather vague. It is 
true that you said you went there for shelter from 
the storm. But you have not explained how you got 
into the house, and from the way you spoke to me 
when you opened the door it is obvious that you ex- 
pected to see some one else who was not a stranger.” 

She came to a halt in the road in order to put a 
direct question to him. 

“Do you think that I had anything to do with this 


30 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

dreadful murder? Do you think that is the reason I 
asked you to keep my name out of it ?” 

'T am quite sure that you had nothing whatever to 
do with the tragedy — that the discovery of the man’s 
dead body was as great a surprise to you as it was 
to me.” 

“Thank you,” she said. The emphasis of his 
declaration imparted a quiver to her expression of 
gratitude. “You are quite right about my expecting 
to see some one else when I opened the door,” she 
said. “I expected to see Mr. Lumsden.” 

“Oh, I beg your pardon. I never thought of that.” 
He flushed at the way in which her simple explanation 
had convicted him of having harboured unjust sus- 
picions against her. 

“I went to the farm to see him — I had a message 
for him,” she continued, with seeming candour. “The 
storm came on just before I reached the house. I 
knocked, but no one came, and then I noticed the 
key was in the lock on the outside of the door. Nat- 
urally I thought Mr. Lumsden had left it there — that 
when he saw the storm he had gone to the stable 
or cowshed to attend to a horse or a cow. I went 
inside the house, expecting he would be back every 
moment. When I heard your knock I thought it was 
he.” 

“I am afraid you must think me a dreadful boor,” 
he said. “I apologize most humbly.” 

She replied with a breadth of view that in its con- 
trast with his ungenerous suspicions added to his 
embarrassment. 

“No, you were quite right,” she said. “As I asked 
you to keep my name out of it — as I virtually asked 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 31 

you to show blind trust in me — you were at least en- 
titled to the fullest explanation of how I came to be 
there.” 

“And I hope you quite understand that I do trust 
you absolutely,” he said. “I know as well as it is 
possible to know anything in this world that you were 
not connected in the remotest way with the death of 
this man.” 

Having been lifted out of the atmosphere of sus- 
picion, she felt she could safely enter it again. 

“I was not quite candid with you when I asked you 
to keep me out of the dreadful tragedy because of the 
way I would be talked about,” she said, placing a 
penitent and appeatling hand on his arm. “There are 
other reasons — one other reason at least — why I do 
not want it known I was at Cliff Farm to-night.” 

He was prepared to shield her if she was prepared 
to take the risk of being shielded. 

“That alters the case,” he said. “My reluctance to 
keep your name out of it arose from the fear that 
you did not realize the risk you would run.” 

“I realize it,” she said. “And I wish to thank you 
for pointing it out so clearly. But it is a risk I must 
take.” 

“In that case you can rely on me.” 

“You will keep my name out of it?” she asked. 

“I will tell no one,” he replied. 


CHAPTER III 


*Tt seems to me as if the storm is abating,” said 
Sir George Granville to his week-end guest. 

He moved a piece on the chess-board and then got 
up from his chair and went to the window to listen 
to the rain on the glass. 

His guest was so intent on the chess-board that he 
did not reply. Sir George Granville remained at the 
window, his attention divided between watching for 
his opponent’s next move and listening to the storm. 

Sir George’s opponent was a young man ; that is to 
say, he was under forty. He was evidently tall, and 
his well-cut clothes indicated that he possessed the 
well-built frame which is the natural heritage of most 
young Englishmen of good class. But his clear-cut, 
clean-shaven face suggested that its owner was a man 
of unusual personality and force of character. It was 
a remarkable face which would have puzzled the stu- 
dent in physiognomy. The upper portion was purely 
intellectual in type, the forehead broad, and the head 
well-shaped, but the dark eyes, with a touch of dream- 
iness and sadness in their depths, contrasted strangely 
with the energy and determination indicated by the 
firm mouth and heavy lower jaw. 

The guest moved a piece and then looked at his host. 

“You are not yourself to-night. Sir George,” he 
said. “I think we had better finish this game some 
other time, or cancel it.” 


32 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 33 

Sir George walked over to the table and looked at 
the position on the chess-board. 

“Perhaps it would be better to cancel it,” he said, 
“though it is generous on your part to offer to do so, 
with a piece to the good and the threatening develop- 
ment of your pawns on the queen's side. But I am 
off my game to-night. I am too worried about that 
nephew of mine to give you a good game.” 

“It is a bad night to be out,” said the guest. “But 
surely he would find shelter somewhere in the downs.” 

“He may have met with an accident. He must 
have seen this storm coming. Pie should have been 
home hours ago in any case.” 

“Putting aside the possibility of an accident, the 
fact that he hasn’t turned up in the storm indicates 
that he has found shelter,” said the guest. “He is 
waiting until the storm is over.” 

“But on the downs there are so few places where 
one can obtain shelter except at a shepherd’s cottage.” 

Sir George sat down in an arm-chair near the fire 
and invited his guest to take the chair on the other 
side. The room they were in was a large one, ex- 
pensively furnished in black oak. The small chess- 
table with the chess-board and men had been placed 
near the large table in the centre of the room for 
the benefit of the light, but the autumn night was 
chilly, and the fire comfortable, and an open box of 
cigars and spirit-stand close by enhanced the appear- 
ance of indoor comfort. After his guest had declined 
a drink. Sir George mixed himself a whisky and soda 
and settled himself in an easy chair. His guest lit a 
cigar. 

They had been seated in front of the fire but a few 


34 the mystery OF THE DOWNS 

minutes when the sound of the telephone bell was 
heard in the hall. Sir George jumped to his feet with 
an alacrity that was surprising in a man of his weighty 
figure. 

“Perhaps that is Harry/' he said to his guest as he 
hurried into the hall. 

The guest lit another cigar and leaned back in his 
chair as he awaited the return of his host. The length* 
of time Sir George was at the telephone would indi- 
cate to some extent the nature of the conversation. 
An absence of over a minute would suggest good 
news, and that his host was desirous of obtaining the 
full measure of it. To the surprise of the guest, five 
minutes elapsed without any sign of the return of his 
host. That the telephone conversation should have 
lasted so long seemed improbable. 

The guest, with a delicate regard for what was due 
to a host, tried to keep his active mind from specu- 
lating on the nature of the news by telephone that was 
keeping Sir George away. He got up to examine the 
paintings on the wall, but found little in them to claim 
his attention. Nearly a quarter of an hour had elapsed 
since the telephone bell had rung. With a smile the 
guest returned to his chair. He had alighted on a 
solution of his host's long absence: Sir George had 
received good news and had gone upstairs to announce 
it to his wife. 

Lady Granville was the second wife of Sir George, 
and was many years his junior. The baronet was 
sixty-four, and in spite of the fact that he was an 
experienced man of the world, whose wealth enabled 
him to get his own way, he was easily managed by 
his beautiful young wife. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 35 

Sir George, with a passion for chess and a predilec- 
tion for a quiet life, had at the instance of his wife, 
taken a big house on the front at the fashionable 
resort of Staveley and had plunged into its social 
gaieties. That afternoon he had revolted to the extent 
of excusing himself from accompanying her to a gar- 
den fete in aid of the funds of the Red Cross by 
declaring that he must stay at home to welcome his 
guest, who was to motor down from London. Lady 
Granville had gone unaccompanied to the fete, and 
on her return home had adopted the wifely revenge of 
retiring to rest early, on the grounds that she had 
a severe headache. 

When Sir George returned to his guest he was in a 
happy state of mind. 

“It was he, Crewe,” he exclaimed. 

“And nothing wrong?” asked Crewe. 

“No, nothing wrong with him,” was the reply. “But 
he has had the most extraordinary adventure — ^grue- 
some, in fact.” 

“Gruesome?” The tone in which Crewe repeated 
the word showed that his interest had been aroused. 

“Well, you might not call it gruesome, Crewe, as 
you have had so much to do with gruesome tragedies, 
but the fact of the matter is the boy seems to have 
discovered a murder.” 

“A murder?” 

“That is how the police look at it, he says. Harry 
rang me up from the police station at Ashlingsea — 
a fishing village about twelve miles from here along 
the coast. His horse went lame and he was caught in 
the storm. He came across an old farm-house and 
went there for shelter, but he found the house was 


36 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

empty. He got in somehow, and on going upstairs 
found the dead body of a young man — the owner of 
the farm. Lumsden the owner’s name is ; quite a boy, 
that is to say, something under thirty. Cliff Farm 
is the name of the place. I know it well — I have 
often passed it while out motoring.” 

“How was he killed — did your nephew say?” 

“Shot.” 

“The dead body was there and the house empty,” 
said Crewe, in a meditative voice. “That looks as if 
the police will not have much difficulty in picking up 
the scent. The fact that he would be alone could not 
have been known to many people.” 

“I suppose not. I do not profess to be quite clear 
about everything Harry told me because I was so 
pleased to hear his voice and so astonished at his ad- 
venture. I went straight upstairs and told my wife. I 
know she was anxious about Harry though she said 
nothing before retiring — that is her way. Of course I 
only told her that Harry was safe. I said nothing about 
a murder because it would upset her. But, as I was 
saying, this young Lumsden, according to what Harry 
has learned from the police sergeant at Ashlingsea, 
lived alone. He didn’t farm his land : he was a bit of 
a recluse.” 

“How far away is his farm?” asked Crewe. 

“About nine or ten miles from here. What about 
motoring over in the morning?” 

“Can we pick up your nephew? I should like to 
hear his account at first hand.” 

“We can go over to Ashlingsea first and bring him 
back to the farm with us. He is staying at an inn 
there, but I can get the Ashlingsea police station. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 37 

from where Harry rang up, to let him know that we 
will be over for him in the car in the morning.” 

Crewe nodded. Sir George mixed himself another 
whisky and soda, and lit a cigar. Crewe also lit a 
cigar, and then they settled themselves in front of the 
fire for a chat before retiring. 

The tie between the great crime investigator and his 
host was chess. Sir George Granville had been in 
the front rank of English chess-players when Crewe 
disappointed the chess world by suddenly retiring from 
match chess, at the outset of a brilliant career, in order 
to devote his wonderful gifts of intuition and insight 
to crime detection. His intellect was too vigorous 
and active to be satisfied with the sedate triumphs of 
chess ; his restless temperament and vital force needed 
a wider and more vigorous scope. 

But, despite the wide fame he had won as a crimi- 
nologist, chess enthusiasts still shook their heads when 
his name was mentioned, as people are wont to do 
when they hear the name of a man of brilliant parts 
who has not made the most of his life. It was noth- 
ing to them that Crewe had achieved fame in the role 
he had chosen for himself ; that the press frequently 
praised him as a public benefactor who had brought 
to justice many dangerous criminals who would have 
escaped punishment but for his subtle skill. These 
were vain triumphs for a man who had beaten Tur- 
gieff and the young South American champion, and 
had seemed destined to bring the world’s champion- 
ship to England. 

The chess tie between Crewe and Sir George Gran- 
ville had long ago strengthened into mutual regard. 
Sir George liked and admired Crewe, though he did 


38 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

not understand the depths of his character. Crewe 
respected the baronet for the shrewd ability with 
which he controlled his large interests, and the fact 
that he had never allowed his career as a business 
man to warp the kindliness of his nature or interfere 
with the natural generosity of his disposition. 

They talked of various things: of chess, at first, as 
is inevitable with two chess-players. Sir George pulled 
up the chess-table and reset the abandoned game in 
order to see if there was not some defence to Black’s 
position at the stage when the game was abandoned — 
the baronet had played with the black pieces. He 
came to the conclusion that there wasn’t, and con- 
gratulated Crewe on his attack. 

“Do you know, I cannot help regretting sometimes 
that you have practically given up the game,” he added, 
as he placed the ivory chess-men one by one in the 
box. “It is a long while since England has had a 
really great chess-player.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Crewe. “There are 
more things in life than chess.” 

“Some people do not think so,” replied Sir George, 
with a smile. “Your old opponent Merton was tell- 
ing me at the club the other night that he would 
consider his life had been well spent if he could but 
find a sound answer to that new opening of Talsker’s.” 

“That is proof that chess gets hold of one too 
much,” replied Crewe, with an answering smile. 

“Still, you might have been champion of England,” 
pursued Sir George meditatively. 

Crewe shrugged his shoulders slightly. 

“One cannot have it both ways,” he said. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 39 

‘‘You prefer crime investigation to chess?” contin- 
ued Sir George inquiringly. 

“In some ways — yes. Both have their fascination, 
but in chess the human element is lacking. It is true 
you have an opponent, but he is not like your hidden 
opponent in crime. When your hidden opponent has 
intelligence, then the game is wonderful — while it 
lasts. But intelligence in crime is as rare as it is in 
every other walk of life. Most crimes are like chess 
problems — once you find the key-move, the rest is easy. 
The really perfect crime mystery is as rare as a per- 
fect chess problem. As a rule, the machinery of the 
human brain is not delicately adjusted enough, or 
sufficiently complex, to devise a problem both complex 
and subtle in crime — or in chess.” 

Sir George did not speak. It was so rarely that 
Crewe could be induced to speak of his experiences 
in crime investigation that he did not wish to check 
him by interrupting. But Crewe showed no sign of 
continuing. He sighed slightly, threw his half-smoked 
cigar into the fire, produced a large brierwood pipe 
with an amber mouthpiece, and slowly filled it, with 
his eyes fixed on the flames. 

They remained thus for some moments in silence, 
though Sir George kept glancing from time to time 
at his companion. Several times the baronet was 
on the verge of speaking, but checked himself. 
At length Crewe, without looking away from the 
fire, said: 

“You would like to ask me to go into this case 
your nephew has discovered to-night, but you do not 
think it would be quite courteous on your part to do 
so, because I am your guest.” 


40 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


“Well, yes, I was thinking that, though I don’t 
know how you guessed it,” said Sir George, in some 
surprise. “For more reasons than one I am worried 
about my nephew getting mixed up with this tragedy.” 

“Tell me why,” said Crewe sympathetically, turning 
away from the fire and looking at his host. 

It was past one o’clock when Crewe retired to his 
room. The object of his visit to Sir George Gran- 
ville had been to obtain a rest after some weeks of 
investigation into the Malmesbury case, as the news- 
papers called it; his investigation having resulted in 
the capture of the elusive Malmesbury who had swin- 
dled the insurance companies out of £20,000 by arrang- 
ing his own death and burial. 

Crewe smiled to himself once or twice as he slowly 
undressed. Instead of entering into a quiet week-end 
he found that within a few hours of his arrival he 
was on the threshold of another investigation. He 
had not met his host’s nephew, Harry Marsland, as 
the young man had left for his ride on the downs be- 
fore Crewe reached the house. But from what Sir 
George had told him Crewe felt attracted to the young 
man. Marsland, who was the only son of Sir George’s 
only sister, had purchased a junior partnership in a 
firm of consulting engineers shortly after attending 
his majority, but as soon as the war broke out he 
offered his services and obtained a commission. 

He had seen over six months’ fighting before being 
wounded by a shell. The long strain of warfare, the 
shock of the explosion and the wounds he had re- 
ceived in the head from shell splinters made his 
recovery very slow. He had been in hospital for 
three months, and though now convalescent he would 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 41 

never be fit for service again and had been invalided 
out of the army. There had been a time in hospital 
when his life hung by a thread. During days and 
nights of delirium his mind had been haunted by the 
scenes of horror he had witnessed at the front. He 
had seen hundreds of men go through the agonies of 
death from terrible wounds and gas torture; he had 
seen human forms blown to pieces, and the men fall- 
ing in hundreds from machine-gun fire as they charged 
the German trenches. 

The hospital doctors had hinted to Sir George of 
the possibility of his nephew’s reason being affected 
by what he had gone through, but fortunately the 
young man was spared this calamity. Sir George had 
been warned not to let his nephew talk about the war 
and to keep his mind occupied with more cheerful 
subjects of conversation. In pursuance of these in- 
structions no reference was made to the war in young 
Marsland’s presence, and his rank as captain was stu- 
diously forgotten. 

It was on the ground of his nephew’s health and 
the danger that lay in mental worry that Sir George 
Granville begged Crewe, before he retired, to promise 
to investigate the crime at Cliff Farm if it turned 
out to be a case which was likely to baffle the police 
and result in protracted worry to those innocently 
brought into it. Crewe recognized the force of the 
appeal and had promised to give some time to the 
case if the circumstances seemed to demand it. He 
reserved his final decision until after the visit to 
Cliff Farm, which Sir George had arranged to make 
in the morning. 

Anxiety on his nephew’s behalf got Sir George out 


42 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


of bed early, and when Crewe reached the breakfast- 
room he found his host waiting for him. The hearti- 
ness with which he greeted Crewe seemed to embody 
some relief after a strain on patience. 

‘T rang up Ashlingsea police station half an hour 
ago and asked them to make some inquiries about 
Harry,” said Sir George. ‘‘He doesn’t seem to be 
much the worse for his night’s experience. At all 
events, the landlady sent word back that he had gone 
out for a swim.” 

“I am very glad to hear that he is all right,” said 
Crewe. 

“They have given him our message,” continued Sir 
George, “so he will be waiting for us.” 

“It ought not to take us much more than half an 
hour to run over. Is the road good?” 

“Fairly good. We will get away as soon as we have 
finished breakfast. I told my wife not to expect us 
back until after lunch. That will give you time to 
look over the farm-house where the man was mur- 
dered.” 

Crewe smiled slightly at his host’s idea that it would 
not take him long to reconstruct the crime. 

“Are we to keep the object of our journey a secret 
from Lady Granville when we return?” he asked. 

‘Well, no. The fact of the matter is that I told 
her all about it this morning. It was best to do so. 
She will be of valuable assistance in looking after 
Harry if he has been upset by his experiences of last 
night.” 

They finished breakfast quickly, and Sir George got 
up from his chair. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 43 

^T told Harris to have the car ready,” he said. ^Tt 
will be waiting for us.” 

A few minutes later they were in the car and were 
going along the front at a good rate. When the houses 
became scattered, the road left the outline of the shore, 
made a detour round some sand dunes about a mile 
from Staveley, and then stretched like a white ribbon 
along the cliffs, between the downs and the sea, to 
the distant village of Ashlingsea. The road justified 
Sir George’s description as fairly good, but there were 
places where it was very narrow, the width being 
scarcely sufficient to allow one vehicle to pass another. 
On the side where the road joined the downs there 
was a ditch, and in some places the water had col- 
lected and formed a pool. 

''What is this ?” exclaimed Sir George, as he pointed 
to an object at the side of the road some distance 
away. 

The object was a motor-car, which had struck the 
ditch and overturned. Part of the car was lying on 
the downs. One of the front wheels had been 
wrenched out of position. To Crewe’s surprise the 
chauffeur drove past without more than a sidelong 
glance at the wreck. 

"Stop !” said Crewe. "We must have a look at this.” 

"Yes, we may as well have a look at it,” said Sir 
George, as the car stopped. "But it is only one of 
Gosford’s old cars. He has a garage at Staveley and 
has three or four old cars which he lets out on hire. 
They are always coming to grief. Quite a common 
thing to find them stuck up and refusing to budge. 
The occupants have to get out and walk.” 

Crewe got out of the car to inspect the wreck, but 


44 the mystery OF THE DOWNS 


Sir George did not follow him. He was content to 
look on from his seat in the car. With some impa- 
tience he watched Crewe, as the detective examined 
the car first on one side and then the other. Crewe 
went back along the road for about forty yards and 
examined the track the wheels had made in running 
off the road and striking the ditch. Then he stood 
back a few yards, and, going down on his knees, ex- 
amined the grass. He put his shoulder underneath 
the upturned side of the car to judge the weight of the 
vehicle. 

“I believe we could turn it over,” he called out to 
Sir George. “It is not very heavy.” 

“Get out, Harris, and see what you can do,” said 
Sir George. 

He sat and watched Crewe and Harris exerting 
their strength to lift the car. They were not successful 
in moving it. 

“Do you mind. Sir George?” said Crewe persuas- 
ively. 

Sir George did mind, but convention demanded that 
he should pretend to his guest that he did not. 

“Gosford won’t thank us,” was the length of the 
protest he offered. “We may give the thing a bump 
that will bring it to pieces.” 

“I do not want to shove it right over,” explained 
Crewe. “If we can get it on its side so that I can 
have a look at it inside I will be satisfied.” 

Sir George’s contribution to the task turned the 
scale. Slowly the car was raised until it rested on its 
right side. Crewe bent down and inspected the inside 
of the car and the driver’s seat. 

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ve got all I want.” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 45 

‘‘And what is it that you wanted?” demanded Sir 
George, in astonishment. 

“Several things,” said Crewe. ‘T wanted to get an 
idea of when the accident took place.” 

“How on earth could you expect to tell that ?” asked 
Sir George. 

“By the state of the car — outside and inside. The 
way the mud is splashed on the outside indicates that 
the car was out in last night’s storm. The wet state 
of the cushions inside showed that rain had fallen 
on them — they must have got wet before the car cap- 
sized.” 

“Extremely interesting,” said Sir George. “Fd 
never have thought of these things. Perhaps you can 
tell how many people were in the car at the time.” 

“No. All I can say is that one of them was in- 
jured, but not very seriously, as far as I can make 
out.” 

“And how do you make that out ?” asked Sir George. 

“By the blood-stains on the grass at the side of the 


CHAPTER IV 


Police-Sergeant Westaway sat in the sitting-room 
of Cliff Farm preparing an official report, with 
the assistance of his subordinate, Police-Constable 
Heather, whose help consisted in cordially agreeing 
with his superior on any point on which the sergeant 
condescended to ask his advice. 

The constable was a short, florid-faced, bullet- 
headed young man, and he whistled cheerfully as he 
explored the old farm-house. His superior officer was 
elderly and sallow, with hollow dark eyes, a long black 
beard streaked with grey, and a saturnine expression, 
which was the outward manifestation of a pessimistic 
disposition and a disordered liver. 

Sergeant Westaway looked like a man who found 
life a miserable business. A quarter of a century 
spent in a dull round of official duties in the fishing 
village of Ashlingsea, as guardian of the morals of 
its eight hundred inhabitants, had deepened his nat- 
ural bent towards pessimism and dyspepsia. He felt 
himself qualified to adorn a much higher official post, 
but he forbore to air his grievance in public because 
he thought the people with whom his lot was cast were 
not worth wasting speech upon. By his aloofness and 
taciturnity he had acquired a local reputation for wis- 
dom, which his mental gifts scarcely warranted. 

“Heather,’^ he said, pausing in his writing and glanc- 
46 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 47 

mg up irritably as his subordinate entered the room, 
'‘do not make that noise.’' 

“What noise, sergeant?” asked Constable Heather, 
who gathered his impressions slowly. 

“That whistling. It disturbs me. Besides, there is 
a dead man in the house.” 

“All right, sergeant, I forgot all about him.” Con- 
stable Heather stopped in the middle of a lively stave, 
sat down on a chair, got up again, and went out of 
the room with a heavy tread. 

Sergeant Westaway returned to his official report 
with a worried expression on his gaunt face. He was 
a country police officer with no previous experience of 
murders, and twenty-five years’ official vegetation in 
Ashlingsea, with nothing more serious in the way of 
crime to handle than occasional outbreaks of drunk- 
enness or an odd case of petty larceny, had made him 
rusty in official procedure, and fearful of violating the 
written and unwritten laws of departmental red tape. 
He wrote and erased and rewrote, occasionally laying 
down his pen to gaze out of the open window for 
inspiration. 

It was a beautiful day in early autumn. The violent 
storm of the previous night had left but few traces of 
its visit. The sun was shining in a clear blue sky, 
and the notes of a skylark singing joyously high above 
the meadow in front of the farm floated in through 
the open window. The winding cliff road was white 
and clean after the heavy rain, and the sea was once 
more clear and green, with little white-flecked waves 
dancing and sparkling in the sunshine. 

Sergeant Westaway, gloomily glancing out at this 
pleasing prospect, saw two men entering the farm 


48 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

from the road. They had been cycling, and were now 
pushing their machines up the gravel-path to the front 
door. One of them was in police uniform, and the 
other was a young man about thirty years of age, clad 
in cycling tweeds and knickerbockers, with a tweed 
cap on the back of his curly head. He had blue eyes 
and a snub nose, and a cigarette dangled from his 
lower lip. He was a stranger to Sergeant Westaway, 
but that acute official had no hesitation in placing him 
as a detective from Scotland Yard. To the eye of 
pessimism he looked like the sort of man that Scot- 
land Yard would send to assist the country police. His 
companion in uniform was Detective-Inspector Payne, 
of the County police headquarters at Lewes, and was 
well known to Sergeant Westaway. The latter had no 
difficulty in arriving at the conclusion that the County 
Commissioner of Police, having several other mys- 
terious crimes to occupy the limited number of detec- 
tives at his disposal, had asked for the assistance of 
Scotland Yard in unravelling the murder at Cliff 
Farm. Sergeant Westaway knew what this would 
mean to him. He would have a great deal to do in 
coaching the Scotland Yard man regarding local con- 
ditions, but would get none of the credit of sheeting 
home the crime to the murderer. The Scotland Yard 
man would see to that. 

‘‘How are you, Westaway?” exclaimed Inspector 
Payne, as he stood his bicycle against the wall of the 
house near the front door. “What do you mean by 
giving us a murder when we’ve got our hands full? 
We’ve burglaries in half a dozen towns, a murder at 
Denham, two unidentified bodies washed ashore in a 
boat at Hemsley, and the disappearance from Lewes 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 49 

of a well-known solicitor who is wanted for embez- 
zling trust funds. Let me introduce you to Detective 
Gillett, of Scotland Yard. Fm turning the investiga- 
tion of this murder of yours over to him. You will 
give him all the assistance he wants.'' 

“Yes, sir," replied Sergeant Westaway. 

“Glad to meet you, Westaway," said Detective Gil- 
lett, as he shook hands with the Sergeant. 

Sergeant Westaway had come to the door to meet 
the new-comers, and he now led the way back to the 
room where he had been preparing his report. 

Detective Gillett took up a position by the open 
window, and sniffed gratefully at the soft air. 

“Fine view, here," he said, waving his hand in the 
direction of the cliff road and open bay. “Fine, brac- 
in' air — sea — country — birds — and 'all that sort of 
thing. You chaps in the country have all the best of 
it — the simple life, and no hustle or bustle." 

Sergeant Westaway looked darkly at the speaker 
as though he suspected him of a desire to rob him of 
the grievance he had brooded over in secret for twen- 
ty-five years. 

“It's dull enough," he said ungraciously. 

“But the air, man, the air!" said the London de- 
tective,. inhaling great gulps of oxygen as he spoke. 
“It's exhilarating; it's glorious! Why, it should keep 
you going until you reach a hundred." 

“Too salt," commented Sergeant Westaway curtly. 

“The more salt in it the longer it will preserve you," 
said Gillett. “What a glorious day it is." 

“The day is right enough," said Westaway. “But 
to-morrow will be different." 

“Westaway doesn’t like to be enthusiastic about 


50 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

this locality for fear we will shift him somewhere 
else/’ said Inspector Payne. ‘‘However, let us get to 
business. I must be on my way back to Lewes in 
an hour.” 

Sergeant Westaway coughed in order to clear his 
throat, and then began his narrative in a loud official 
voice : 

“At five minutes past nine last night a gentleman 
named Marsland came to the police station. I was 
in my office at the time, preparing a report. He told 
me that he had found the dead body of a man in this 
house.” 

“Who is this Marsland?” asked Inspector Payne. 
“Does he live in the district?” 

“He does not,” replied the sergeant. “He lives at 
Staveley. That is to say, he lives in London, but 
he is staying at Staveley. He is staying there with 
his uncle, Sir George Granville.” 

“I know Sir George,” said the inspector. “And so 
this young gentleman who discovered the body is his 
nephew. How old is he?” 

“About twenty-eight, I should say.” 

“What sort of young man is he? How did he im- 
press you?” 

“He impressed me as being an honest straightfor- 
ward young gentleman. He gave me a very clear state- 
ment of who he was and how he came to call in at 
this farm last night. Nevertheless, I took the pre- 
caution of telephoning to Inspector Murchison at 
Staveley and asking him to have inquiries made. The 
inspector’s report coincides with what Mr. Marsland 
told me. He has been in ill-health and came down 
from London to Staveley to recuperate. He has been 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 51 

there five days. Yesterday he left Staveley for a ride 
on the downs. He got lost and was caught in the storm 
which came up shortly after dusk. His horse went 
lame, and seeing this house he came here for shelter. 
The horse is in the stable now. There was no light 
in the house, and when he went to the front door to 
knock he found it open. He struck a match and lit a 
candle which was on the hallstand. He could see no 
one about. Then he lit a lamp in this room and sat 
down to wait until the storm was over. He was sit- 
ting here for some time listening to the rain when 
suddenly he heard a crash above. He took the lamp 
and made his way upstairs. In a sitting-room on the 
first floor he found the dead body of a man in an arm- 
chair. At first he thought the man had died a natural 
death, but on inspecting the body he found that the 
man had been shot through the body. As the storm 
was abating, Mr. Marsland made his way down to 
Ashlingsea and reported his discovery to me.” 

“And what did you do?” asked Inspector Payne, in 
an authoritative voice. 

“I closed the station and in company with Mr. Mars- 
land I knocked up Police-Constable Heather. Then 
the three of us came here. I found the body as Mr. 
Marsland had described. I identified the body as that 
of Frank Lumsden, the owner of this farm. Leaving 
Heather in charge of it, I returned to Ashlingsea ac- 
companied by Mr. Marsland, and reported the matter 
by telephone to headquarters at Lewes, as you are 
aware, inspector. This morning I returned here to 
make a minute inspection of the scene of the crime and 
to prepare my report.” 


52 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

‘Ts the body upstairs now?” asked Detective Gil- 
lett. 

‘Tt has been left exactly as it was found. I gave 
Heather orders that he was not to touch it.” 

“What sort of a man was this Lumsden?” asked 
Inspector Payne. “Had he any enemies ?” 

“He may have,” replied the cautious sergeant. 
“There are some who bore him no good will.” 

“Why was that?” 

“Because they thought he hadn’t acted rightly by 
them. He was the executor of his grandfather’s will, 
but he didn’t pay the legacies his grandfather left. 
He said there was no money. His grandfather drew 
all his money out of the bank when the war broke 
out, and no one was ever able to find where he hid 
it. But there are some who say Frank Lumsden 
found it and stuck to it all.” 

“This is interesting,” said Detective Gillett. “We 
must go into it thoroughly later on.” 

“And what makes it more interesting is that a sort 
of plan showing where the money was hidden has dis- 
appeared,” continued Sergeant Westaway. “It dis- 
appeared after Lumsden was murdered. Mr. Mars- 
land told me that he found it when he was going up- 
stairs to find out the cause of the crash he heard. It 
was lying on the second bottom stair. Mr. Marsland 
picked it up and put it on the table with the candle 
stuck on top of it. But when we came here this morn- 
ing it was gone.” 

“That is strange,” commented Inspector Payne. 
“What was the plan like? And how does Mr. Mars- 
land know it had anything to do with the missing 
money ?” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


53 


“Of course he doesn’t know for certain. But when 
I happened to tell him about the murdered man’s 
grandfather and the missing money he called to mind 
a strange-looking paper he had picked up. As he 
described it to me, it had some figures written in the 
shape of a circle on it, and some letters or writing 
above and below the circle of figures. He did not 
scrutinize it very closely when he first found it, for 
he intended to examine it later.” 

“And it disappeared after Mr. Marsland left the 
farm to go to the police station ?” asked Detective Gil- 
lett. 

“Showing, to my mind, that the murderer was ac- 
tually in the house when Mr. Marsland left,” added 
Sergeant Westaway, with impressive solemnity. “In 
all probability the murderer was hiding in the top 
floor at the time. I have ascertained that the crash 
Mr. Marsland heard was caused by a picture being 
knocked down and the glass broken. This picture I 
found on the stairs leading to the top floor. It used 
to hang on the wall near the top of the stairs. My 
theory is that the murderer, feeling his way in the 
dark while Mr. Marsland was in this room, accidentally 
knocked it down.” 

“I take it that Marsland did not go up to the top 
floor but left the house after examining the body,” 
remarked Detective Gillett. 

“That is so,” replied the Sergeant. “He forgot about 
the crash when he found the body of a murdered man. 
His first thought was to communicate with the police.” 

“And the murderer, leaving the house after Mars- 
land had gone, found this plan on the table and took; 
it?’’ suggested Detectiye Gillett. 


54 the mystery OF THE DOWNS 

'That is my theory,” replied Sergeant Westaway. 
'T forgot to say, however, that the plan was probably 
stolen in the first place from the murdered man’s 
pocket-book — his pocket-book was found on the table 
near him. It had been opened and most of the papers 
it contained had been removed. The papers were 
scattered about the table. The way I see the crime is 
this : the murderer had killed his victim, had removed 
his pocket-book, and had obtained possession of the 
plan. He was making his way downstairs to escape 
when he saw Marsland in the doorway. In his alarm 
he dropped the plan on the stairs and then crept softly 
upstairs to the top of the house. After Mr. Marsland 
left the murderer came downstairs again, looked about 
for the plan, and after finding it then made off.” 

"A very ingenious reconstruction, sergeant,” said 
Inspector Payne. 'T shouldn’t wonder if it proved to 
be correct. What do you say, Gillett?” 

“Westaway is wasting his time down here,” said 
the young detective. “We ought to have him at Scot- 
land Yard.” 


CHAPTER V 


Sergeant Westaway was flattered at the manner 
in which his theory of the murder had been received by 
men who were far more experienced than himself in 
investigating crime. His sallow cheeks flushed with 
pleasure and his pessimism waned a little. In his de- 
termination to place his hearers in possession of all 
the facts concerning the crime and the victim he gave 
them details regarding Lumsden’s mode of life at 
Cliflf Farm after his discharge from the army, and 
the gossip that was current in the district concerning 
him. While he was dealing with these matters they 
heard a motor-car approaching. It stopped outside 
the gates of the farmhouse, and the three police of- 
ficials went' to the door to see who had arrived. 

"‘Why, it’s Crewe!” exclaimed Detective Gillett, in 
a tone of surprise. 'T wonder who has put him on to 
this ?” 

“That is Sir George Granville with him — the stout 
elderly man,” said Inspector Payne. 

“The other gentleman is Mr. Marsland,” said Ser- 
geant Westaway. 

“Which is Crewe and which is Marsland?” asked 
Inspector Payne. 

“The tall one on the left is Crewe,” answered De- 
tective Gillett. 

As a police official, Inspector Payne was indignant 
at the idea of Crewe intruding into the case, but as a 
55 


56 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

man he was delighted at the opportunity of meeting 
the famous private detective who had so often scored 
over Scotland Yard by unravelling mysteries which 
had baffled the experts of the London detective de- 
partment. Crewe’s fame had even penetrated to Ash- 
lingsea, and Sergeant Westaway studied the private 
detective with awed interest as the three occupants 
of the motor-car walked up the drive. 

Inspector Payne had pictured Crewe as a more 
striking personality than the tall young man in tweeds 
who was accompanying Sir George Granville and his 
nephew. The latter was talking earnestly, and Crewe 
was listening closely. Inspector Payne had an op- 
portunity of noting the distinction and character which 
marked the detective’s face in repose : the clear, clean- 
cut profile, the quick penetration and observation of 
his dark eyes as they took in the exterior of Cliff 
Farm. He concluded that Crewe was rather young for 
the fame he had achieved — certainly under forty : that 
he liked his face ; that he looked like a gentleman^ and 
that his tweed suit displayed a better cut than any 
provincial tailor had ever achieved. 

His companion. Sir George Granville’s nephew, was 
a young man of Saxon type, fair-haired, blue-eyed, 
with a clear skin which had been tanned brown as the 
result of his war campaigning in France. He was two 
or three inches shorter than Crewe, but was well set 
up and well-built, and although he did not wear khaki 
his recent connection with the army was indicated by 
his military carriage and bearing. 

After the necessary introductions Crewe explained 
with an air of modesty that. Sir George Granville’s 
nephew having had the misfortune to become asso- 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 57 

dated with the tragedy through the discovery of the 
body, Sir George, as a public man, had conceived the 
idea that he ought to do something towards discov- 
ering the author of the crime. That was how he him- 
self came to be present. He hoped that he would 
not be in the way of the police. 

'‘Not at all; not at all,” said Inspector Payne, an- 
swering for the County Police. "We’ll be glad of your 
help. And as for anything we can do for you, Mr. 
Crewe, you have only to ask.” 

"That is very kind of you,” said Crewe. 

"You are just in time,” continued Inspector Payne. 
"Gillett and I have been here only a few minutes. 
We were just going upstairs to look at the body when 
you arrived.” 

On their way upstairs Gillett drew attention to some 
marks on the margin of the stairs between the carpet 
on the staircase and the wall. These marks were ir- 
regular in shape, and they looked as if they had been 
made by wiping portions of the stairs with a dirty 
wet cloth. Some of the stairs bore no mark. 

"It seems to me that some one has been wiping up 
spots of blood on the stairs,” said Inspector Payne, 
as he examined the marks closely. 

On the linoleum covering the landing of the first 
flight there were more traces of the kind, the last of 
them being beside the door of the room in which the 
body had been discovered. 

The dead man was still in the arm-chair near the 
window. There was such a resemblance to life in his 
stooping posture that the men entering the room found 
it difficult at first to realize they were confronted with 
the corpse of a man who had been murdered. A ray 


58 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

of sunlight fell through the narrow window on the 
bent head, revealing the curly brown hair and the 
youthful contour of the neck. The right arm was 
slightly extended from the body towards the table near 
the arm-chair in which the corpse was seated, as 
though the murdered man had been about to pick 
up the pocket-book which lay on the table. The pock- 
et-book was open, and the papers which had been in 
it were scattered about the table. 

Payne, Gillett and Crewe inspected the body closely. 
Sir George Granville and Marsland waited a little 
distance away while the others conducted their exam- 
ination. The dead man had been fully dressed when he 
was shot. On the left side of his vest was the hole made 
by the bullet, and around it was a discoloured patch 
where the blood, oozing from the wound, had stained 
the tweed. There were numerous blood-stains on the 
floor near the dead man’s feet, and also near the win- 
dow at the side of the arm-chair. 

'T see that the window is broken,” said Inspector 
Payne, pointing to one of the panes in the window 
near the arm-chair. 

“By a bullet,” said Sergeant Westaway. He pulled 
down the window blind and pointed to a hole in it 
which had evidently been made by a bullet. “When 
I came in the blind was down. I pulled it up in order 
to let in some light. But the fact that there is a 
hole in the window blind shows that the murder was 
committed at night, when the blind was down. I 
should say two shots were fired. The first went 
through the window, and the other killed him.” 

“I think the bullet that killed him has gone through 
him,” said Crewe, who had moved the body in order 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 59 

to examine the back of it. ‘Tt looks as if he was shot 
from behind, because the wound in the back is lower 
down than the one in front.” He pointed to a hole 
in the back of the coat where the cloth showed a simi- 
lar discoloured patch to the one in the vest. 

“It must have been a powerful weapon if the bul- 
let has gone through him,” said Gillett. “That means 
we shall have no bullet to guide us as to the calibre 
of the weapon, unless we can find the one that went 
through the window.” 

“Perhaps there was only one shot fired after all,” 
remarked Inspector Payne. “The victim may have 
been standing by the window when he was shot, and 
then have staggered to the chair. Otherwise if he 
were shot in the back while sitting in the chair the bul- 
let should be embedded in the chair or wall. But I can 
see no sign of it.” 

“Not necessarily,” said Gillett. “Look at the position 
on the arm-chair. It is possible that the bullet, after 
going through the man, went through the window. 
That would account for the broken pane of glass.” 

The pocket-book and the papers it contained were 
next examined. Inspector Payne asked Marsland con- 
cerning the mysterious plan he had picked up on the 
stairs. Marsland borrowed a sheet of paper from the 
inspector’s large official note-book and drew a rough 
sketch of the plan as he remembered it. He explained 
that as he had lost his glasses while out in the storm 
he had not been able to make a close study of the 
plan. While he was engaged in reproducing the plan 
as far as he remembered it, Sergeant Westaway en- 
lightened Crewe and Sir George Granville about the 
theory he had formed that the murderer was in the 


6o THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


house when Marsland discovered the body, and that, 
after Marsland left, the murderer made his escape and 
took from the sitting-room downstairs the plan he had 
dropped on the stairs when he heard Marsland in the 
house. 

“What do you make of this, Mr. Crewe?’’ asked In- 
spector Payne, as he took up the paper on which Mars- 
land had sketched what he recalled of the plan. “Do 
you think this was meant to show where the old 
grandfather had his money?” 

“That is very probable,” said Crewe. “But it is not 
worth while trying to solve the riddle from a sketch 
drawn from memory. Get the murderer and you will 
probably get the original plan as well.” 

Sergeant Westaway, in pursuance of his duties as 
guide, took his visitors downstairs to the sitting-room 
for the purpose of showing them how the window 
had been forced in order to provide an entrance. He 
pointed to a mark on the sash which indicated that 
a knife had been used to force back the catch. 

This was the room in which Miss Maynard had 
been sitting when Marsland had arrived to obtain 
shelter from the storm. Marsland noticed the chair 
beside which she had stood while they were in the 
room together before going upstairs to investigate the 
cause of the crash they had heard. He gave a start as he 
saw behind the chair a small tortoiseshell comb such 
as ladies sometimes wear to keep their hair up. He 
stooped quickly to pick it up, and as he did so he real- 
ized that he had blundered badly. In order to rectify 
the blunder he made a weak attempt to hide the comb, 
but he saw Detective Gillett’s eye on him. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 6i 


“What have we here?” asked the Scotland Yard 
man genially. 

Marsland held out his hand with the comb resting 
in it. 

“A woman in the case,” commented Inspector 
Payne. “That ought to help to simplify matters.” 

Marsland bit his lips at the thought of how he had 
been false to his promise to Miss Maynard. He had 
kept her name out of the discovery of the crime, but 
he had unwittingly directed attention to the fact that 
a woman had only recently been in that room. 

The comb was handed to Crewe for examination. 
It was about three inches long and was slightly convex 
in shape. On the outside was a thin strip of gold 
mounting. Crewe handed the comb back. 

“You sat in this room before going upstairs, Mars- 
land?” he asked, turning to Sir George’s nephew. 

“Yes; I was here about a quarter of an hour or 
twenty minutes.” 

“Was the window open when you came in? Did 
you close it?” 

“I did not close it, but it must have been closed, 
as otherwise I would have noticed it open. It was 
raining and blowing hard while I was here.” Mars- 
land thought to himself that any information he could 
give about the window was useless in view of the 
fact that Miss Maynard had been in the room some 
time before he arrived. 

“Was this the room in which you found the lamp 
that you took upstairs?” continued Crewe. 

“Yes.” 

“I think you told me that there was no light in the 
house when you entered?” 


62 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


“The place was in darkness. I found a candlestick 
on the hallstand. I lit that first and after coming 
in here I lit the lamp.” He had decided to adhere in 
his statements to what Miss Maynard had told him 
she had done before he arrived. 

“Did you notice when you lit the lamp whether the 
lamp chimney was hot, warm, or quite cold?” asked 
Crewe. 

“I cannot be certain. I think it was cold, or other- 
wise I should have noticed.” 

“You lit the lamp before you heard the crash which 
startled you?” 

“Yes. I lit it a few moments after I came into 
the room.” 

“Any foot-marks outside the window?” said In- 
spector Payne, thrusting his head out of the open 
window. “Yes, there they are, quite plainly, in the 
ground. Made by heavy hobnailed boots. We must 
get plaster impressions of those, Gillett. They are an 
important clue.” 

“I notice, inspector,” said Crewe, “that there are 
no marks of any kind on the wall-paper beneath the 
window. One would expect that a man getting in 
through this window would touch the wall-paper with 
one foot while he was getting through the window, 
and as it was a wet night there ought to be some mark 
on it.” 

“Not necessarily,” replied the inspector. “He may 
have jumped to the floor without touching the wall- 
paper.” 

“But there do not seem to be any impressions inside 
the house of these heavy nailed boots,” returned 
Crewe. “Those impressions beneath the window show 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 63 

that they were made when the ground was soft from 
the .rain. Wet muddy boots with nails in the soles 
ought to leave some traces on the carpet of this room 
and on the staircase.’’ 

‘‘And what about those marks we saw on the stair- 
case? They show that some one had been over the 
staircase with a wet rag.” 

“To wipe out the traces of those boots?” asked 
Crewe. 

“Why not?” 

“Why did the person wearing those boots walk on 
the uncarpeted part of the stairs near the wall instead 
of the carpeted part?” 

“Because he knew that it would be easier for him to 
remove the traces of his footprints from the wood 
than from the carpet.” 

Crewe smiled at the ingenuity displayed by the in- 
spector. 

“One more doubt, inspector,” he said. “Why did 
the man who wore those boots take such care to re- 
move the traces of footprints inside the house and 
show so much indifference to the traces he left out- 
side ?” 

“Because he thought the rain would wash out the 
footprints outside. And so it would have done if 
it had rained until morning. Let us go outside and 
have a good look at them.” 

They went out by the front door and made their 
way to the window, taking care to keep clear of the 
footprints. 

“There you are, Mr. Crewe,” said Inspector Payne. 
“There is evidence that the man got in through the 
window.” He pointed to a spot beneath the window 


64 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

where a small piece of mortar between the brickwork 
had been broken off about fifteen inches above the 
ground. ‘‘And look at those parallel scratches on the 
mortar. It looks to me as if they were made by the 
nails in a boot.” 

“Very true,” assented Crewe, examining the marks 
closely. 

“Now let us follow the footsteps to see where they 
start from,” continued Inspector Payne. 

It was no difficult matter to follow the marks of the 
heavy boots. In the soft soil, which had formerly 
been part of a flower-bed, they were quite distinct. 
Even on the grass beyond the flower-bed the impres- 
sions were visible, though not so distinctly. Eventu- 
ally they reached the gravel-walk which skirted the 
front of the house, and here the traces were lost. 

“I should say that the boots which made these marks 
are the ordinary heavy type worn by farm-hands and 
fishermen in this locality,” said Crewe. 

“No doubt,” answered Inspector Payne. “But, 
though there are some hundreds of men in this locality 
who wear the same type of boot, the number of pairs 
of boots absolutely the same are small. That is par- 
ticularly the case with these heavy nailed boots — the 
positions of some of the nails vary. A cast of three 
or four of the best of these impressions will narrow 
down the circle of our investigations. What do you 
say, Gillett?” 

“It looks to me as if it is going to be a compara- 
tively simple affair.” 

Inspector Payne turned to Marsland. 

“I think you said you found the door open, Mr. 
Marsland. Do you mean wide open or partly closed ?” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 65 

“I found it wide open/’ replied Marsland. ‘T 
thought at the time that it had not been properly 
closed and that the wind had blown it open/’ 

'‘That means that the murderer got in through this 
window and left by the door,” said Inspector Payne to 
Detective Gillett. "He left it open when he fled.” 

"But what about Westaway’s theory that he was in 
the house when Mr. Marsland came here?” asked 
Gillett. "What about the crash Mr. Marsland heard 
when the picture fell down? What about the plan of 
the hidden money that disappeared after Mr. Mars- 
land left?” 

It was plain that Detective Gillett, who had to in- 
vestigate the crime, was not in sympathy with In- 
spector Payne’s method of solving difficult points by 
ignoring them. 

Inspector Payne stroked his chin thoughtfully. 

"There are a lot of interesting little points to be 
cleared up,” he said cheerfully. 

"Yes, there are,” responded Detective Gillett, "and 
I’ve no doubt we will find more of them as we go 
along.” 

It was obvious to Marsland that in keeping silent 
about Miss Maynard’s presence at Cliff Farm on the 
night of the storm, and the means by which she had 
entered the house, he was placing obstacles in the way 
of the elucidation of the tragedy. 


CHAPTER VI 


From the front gate of Cliff Farm the road wound 
up the hill steeply and sinuously, following the broken 
curves of the coastline till it disappeared in the cutting 
of the hill three hundred yards from the house, and 
reappeared on the other side. As far as could be seen 
from the house, the cutting through the hill was the 
only place where the road diverged from the cliff. 

No other short cut o^; a large scale had been at- 
tempted by the makers of the road, which, for the 
most part, skirted the irregular outline of the bluff 
and rocky coast until it seemed a mere white thread in 
the distant green of the spacious downs which 
stretched for many miles to the waters of the Channel. 

On the far side of the cutting the downs came fully 
into view, rolling back from the edge of the cliffs to 
a low range of distant wooded hills, and stretching 
ahead till they were merged in the town of Staveley, 
nearly ten miles away. Staveley’s churchspires could 
be seen from the headland near Cliff Farm on a clear 
day, and the road in front of the farm ran to the 
town, skirting the edge of the cliffs for nearly the 
whole of the way. 

Crewe and Marsland walked up the road from the 
house for some distance in silence. Sir George Gran- 
ville had gone back to Staveley in his car, but his 
nephew and Crewe had arranged to stay behind and 
66 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 67 

spend the night at Ashlingsea. Crewe desired to begin 
his investigations without delay, and Inspector Payne 
had asked Mr. Marsland to remain at Ashlingsea in 
case Detective Gillett wanted further light from him 
on incidental points. As they walked along, Crewe 
was thoughtful, and Marsland scrutinized the way-side 
closely, anxious to find the spot where his horse had 
swerved and stumbled on the previous night. Thus 
preoccupied, they reached the highest point of the cliff, 
a rocky headland which ran out from the hill-top on 
the other side of the cutting, forming a landmark well 
known to the fishermen of the district. 

The headland, which was not more than a hundred 
yards across at the base, jutted sharply out into the 
sea. Immediately beyond it, on the Staveley side, the 
road ran along the edge of the cliffs for seyeral 
hundred yards, with a light rail fence on the outside 
as some protection for traffic from the danger of going 
over the side to the rocks below. Where the grassy 
margin of the headland narrowed to this dangerous 
pass, an ancient and faded notice board on a post which 
had departed from its perpendicular position warned 
drivers that the next portion of the road was Dan- 
gerous, and a similar board was affixed to the other 
end of the protecting fence. 

Marsland stopped opposite the point where the first 
notice-board confronted them from the narrowing 
margin of headline. 

‘Tt was somewhere about here that my horse took 
fright last night, I think,” he said, examining the green 
bank on the side of the road farthest from the cliff. 
“Yes, here is where he slipped.” 


68 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


Crewe examined the deep indentation of hoofmarks 
with interest. 

“It’s lucky for you your horse shied in that direc- 
tion,” he said. “If he had sprung the other way you 
might have gone over the cliffs, in spite of the fence. 
Look here!” 

Marsland followed him to the edge of the cliff and 
glanced over. The tide was out, and the cliffside fell 
almost perpendicularly to the jagged rocks nearly 300 
feet below. 

“They’d be covered at high tide,” said Crewe, point- 
ing downward to the rocks. “But even if one fell 
over at high tide there would not be much chance of 
escape. The breakers must come in with terrific force 
on this rocky coast.” 

“It’s a horribly dangerous piece of road, especially 
at night-time,” said Marsland. “I suppose there was 
some bad accident here at one time or another, which 
compelled the local authorities to put up that fence 
and the warning notices. Even now, it’s far from 
safe. Somebody’s had a narrow escape from going 
over: look at that notice-board leaning down on 
one side. Some passing motor-car has gone too close 
to the edge of the road — ^probably in the dark — and 
bumped it half over.” 

“I noticed it,” said Crewe. “I agree with you : this 
piece of road is highly dangerous. There will be a 
shocking accident here some day unless the local au- 
thorities close this portion of the road and make a 
detour to that point lower down where those sheep 
are grazing. But local authorities never act wisely 
until they have had an accident. Still, I suppose the 
people of the country-side are so well used to this cliff 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 69 

road that they never think of the danger. Apparently 
it’s the only road between Ashlingsea and Staveley.” 

Crewe slowly filled his large pipe, and lit it. He 
smoked thoughtfully, gazing round at the scene. The 
high headland on which they stood commanded an un- 
interrupted view of downs, sea, and coast. It was a 
clear day, and the distant city of Staveley, with its 
towering spires, was silhouetted against the sky like an 
etching in grey. To the left the fishing village of Ash- 
lingsea nestled on the sands, its stone-grey houses 
gleaming in a silver setting, the sails of its fishing fleet 
flecked white on the sunlit blue of the sea. 

On the Ashlingsea side the cliffs fell away quickly, 
and sloped down to a level beach less than a mile from 
the headland. About five hundred yards from the head- 
land the cliff front was less precipitous, and a footpath 
showed a faint trail on its face, running down to a 
little stone landing place, where a fisherman could be 
seen mooring a boat. Crewe pointed out the path to 
Marsland. 

‘T should like to explore that path,” he said. ‘T 
should say it is not very far from Cliff Farm. Do 
you think you could manage it?” 

The question referred to the fact that Marsland was 
a wounded man. Crewe had taken a fancy to Mars- 
land on account of his unaffected manner and manly 
bearing. It was evident to him that the young man 
had been a good officer, a staunch comrade, and that 
he had been extremely popular with the men under 
him. No word in reference to Marsland’s military 
career had passed between Crewe and his companion. 

Crewe was anxious to respect the medical advice 
which forbade Marsland to discuss the war or any- 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

thing relating to his experience at the front. But in 
order to clear the way for candour and companionship 
Crewe thought it best to give an occasional indication 
that Sir George Granville had confided in him about 
his nephew's state of health and the cause of it. 
Crewe was somewhat amused at the pains taken to 
make Marsland forget his past connection with the 
Army, when in so many ways he betrayed to any keen 
observer the effects of military training and discipline. 

“I can manage it quite easily," said Marsland with 
a smile, in reply to Crewe’s question. *T am not 
such a wreck as you’d all like to make me out. Come 
along! I’ll get to the bottom before you." 

They walked along to the cliff path. When they 
reached it they found it was not noticeable from the 
road, which at that point ran back three hundred yards 
or more from the cliff to enter the hill-cutting. Cliff 
Farm stood in the hollow less than a quarter of a 
mile away. The commencement of the path was 
screened from view by the furze which grew along 
the edge of the cliffs at this point. It took Crewe 
and Marsland some minutes before they could find the 
entrance to the path, but when they did they found 
the descent by it to the rocks below tolerably easy, 
the cliff at this point not being more than seventy feet 
high. The track ended abruptly about fifteen feet 
from the bottom, but the rocks afforded good foot- 
hold and handhold for the remaining distance. 

The tide was out, and the coastline at the foot of 
the cliffs showed for miles towards Staveley in black 
rocky outline, with broken reefs running hundreds of 
yards out to sea. 

“It’s a bad piece of coast," said Marsland, eyeing the 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 71 

reefs and the rocky foreshore. ‘Tf a ship had run 
ashore anywhere between here and Staveley in last 
night’s storm she would not have had much chance,” 

Crewe did not reply ; his keen eyes were fixed on a 
line of rocks on the right about a hundred yards from 
where they stood. He walked rapidly to the spot, and 
Marsland could see him stoop down by a pool in the 
rocks and pick up something. As he returned, Mars- 
land saw that the detective was carrying a man’s soft 
grey felt hat, stained and saturated with sea-water. 

'T suppose somebody lost it from the cliffs last 
night,” remarked Marsland. 

Crewe wrung the hat as dry as he could with his 
hands, rolled it up, and placed it in an inside pocket 
of his coat before replying. 

‘T do not think it blew off from the headland,” 
he said. ^Tn fact, it couldn’t have done so. There 
may be nothing in the find, but it’s worth a few in- 
quiries. But look at that fisherman, Marsland. He’s 
a picturesque touch of colour.” 

The fisherman who had been mooring his boat had 
turned to come off the rough landing-stage. He 
stopped when he saw Crewe and Marsland, and stared 
suspiciously at them. He was an old man, but vigor- 
ous and upright, with a dark swarthy face, hooked 
nose, and flashing black eyes, which contrasted strik- 
ingly with a long snow-white beard. He wore a long 
red cloak fastened to his neck with clasps, and reach- 
ing nearly to his feet, which were bare. 

He stood for a few moments looking at the two 
men, his red cloak making a bright splash of colour 
against the grey stones of the landing. Then, with a 
slight shrug of his shoulders, he walked quickly off 


72 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


the landing-place. Crewe nodded to him pleasantly as 
he approached, and asked him to where the path they 
had just descended led. 

The old man, with a slight shake of his head, 
pointed to his lips and his ears, and then, accelerating 
his pace, walked rapidly away along the rocks to- 
wards the headland. 

“Deaf and dumb, poor beggar!’^ said Marsland, 
watching his retreating figure until it turned the head- 
land and was lost to view. “I say, Crewe, did you 
ever see such an odd fish on an English foreshore 

“Italian, I should say,” said Crewe. “But he looks 
as if he might have stepped out of a Biblical plate. 
He would make an admirable model for St. Peter, with 
his expressive eyes and hooked nose and patriarchal 
beard. We’ll have a look at his boat.” 

They walked along the landing-place to the boat, 
which had been moored to an iron ring at the end. 
It was a halfdecked motor-boat about twenty feet 
long, empty except for a coil of rope thrown loosely in 
the bottom, and a small hand fishing-net. The boat 
was painted white, and the name Ziilietta could be seen 
on the stern in black letters. 

They turned away, and Crewe suggested to his com- 
panion that they should walk along the beach and 
back to Cliff Farm by the road instead of returning 
by the path they had just descended. He added that 
he wanted to have a good look at the approach to the 
farm from the village. 

Marsland readily agreed, and they walked for some 
distance in silence. He glanced at Crewe expectantly 
from time to time, but the detective appeared to be 
wrapped in thought. When they had covered more 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 73 

than half the distance between the landing-place and 
the point where the cliffs sloped down to level ground, 
Marsland spoke. 

^‘Have you reached any conclusions yet, Crewe 

“About this murder?’’ 

“Of course.” 

“I have not come to many definite conclusions so 
far,” said Crewe meditatively. “But of one thing I 
am certain. The unravelling of this crime is not going 
to be quite such a simple matter as Inspector Payne 
seems to think.” 

“I gathered that you were doubtful about his theory 
that the man who killed Lumsden got in through the 
window.” 

“Doubtful about it?” echoed Crewe. “Doubtful is 
a mild word. I am absolutely certain that he didn’t 
get in through the window.” 

“But the catch was forced.” 

“It was forced from the inside.” 

Marsland looked at him in amazement. 

“How did you find out that?” he asked. 

“By inspecting the sash. I had a good look at it 
from the inside and out. Apparently it hadn’t been 
opened for some time before last night, and the marks 
of the knife which was used to force it were very 
distinct in the sash in consequence. But the marks 
were broader and more distinct at the top of the 
sash inside than at the bottom. Therefore the knife 
was inserted at the top, and that could be done only 
by a man inside the house.” 

“But why was the window forced if the man was 
inside ?” 

“In order to mislead us.” 


74 the mystery of the downs 

“But the footprints led up to the window.’’ 

“No,” said Crewe. “They led away from it.” 

“Surely you are mistaken,” said Marsland. “I don’t 
like trying to put you right on a matter of this kind, 
but the marks of the boots were so distinct; they all 
pointed the one way — towards the window.” 

“Look behind you, at our own footprints in the 
sand,” said Crewe. 

They had left the rocks behind them some time 
previously and for five minutes had been walking on 
a strip of sand which skirted the cliff road — now level 
with the sea — and broadened into a beach nearer the 
village. Crewe pointed to the clear imprint of their 
footsteps in the firm wet sand behind them. 

“We’ll try a little experiment,” he said. “Let us 
walk backwards for a few yards over the ground we 
have just covered.” 

He commenced to do so, and Marsland wonderingly 
followed suit. After covering about twenty yards in 
this fashion Crewe stopped. 

“That will be sufficient for our purpose,” he said. 
“Now let us compare the two sets of footprints — 
the ones we have just made, and the previous ones. 
Examine them for yourself, Marsland, and tell me 
if you can see any difference.” 

Marsland did so. With the mystified air of a man 
performing a task he did not understand, he first 
scrutinized the footprints they had made while walk- 
ing forwards, and then examined the backward ones. 

“Find any difference in them?” asked Crewe. 

Marsland stood up and straightened his back with 
the self-conscious look of an Englishman who feels 
he has been made to do something ridiculous. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 75 

cannot say that I do. They look ver}^ much alike 
to me.” 

'‘You are not very observant/' said Crewe, with 
a smile. “Let me explain the difference. In ordinary 
walking a man puts down the heel of his boot first, 
and then, as he brings his body forward, he completes 
the impression of his foot. He lifts his heel first and 
springs off the ball of his foot for the next step. But 
in walking backwards a man puts down the ball of his 
foot first and makes but a very faint impression with 
his heel. If he walks very carefully because he is 
not sure of the ground, or because it is dark, he may 
take four or five steps without bringing his heel to 
the ground. If you compare the impressions your 
boots have made in the sand when we were walking 
forward with the others made by walking backward, 
you will find that few of the latter marks give the 
complete impression of your boot.” 

“Yes, I see now,” said Marsland. “The difference 
is quite distinct.” 

“When I examined the window this afternoon, and 
came to the conclusion that it had been forced from 
the inside, I felt certain that a murderer who had 
adopted such a trick in order to mislead the police 
would carry it out in every detail,” said Crewe. 
“After forcing the window he would get out of it 
in order to leave footprints underneath the window 
in the earth outside, and of course he would walk 
backwards from the window, in order to convey the 
impression that he had walked up to the window 
through the garden, forced it and then got into the 
house. As I expected, I found the footsteps leading 
away from the window were deep in the toe, with 


76 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

hardly any heel marks. It was as plain as daylight 
that the man who had made them had walked back- 
wards from the window. But even if I had not been 
quite sure of this from the footprints themselves, 
there was additional confirmation. The backward 
footsteps led straight to a fruit tree about twenty 
feet from the window, and on examining that tree 
I found a small branch — a twig — had been broken and 
bent just where the footsteps were lost in the gravel- 
walk. The man who got out of the window had 
bumped into the tree. Walking backwards he could 
neither see nor feel where he was going.’^ 

“I see — I see,’^ Marsland stood silent for a moment 
evidently pondering deeply over Crewe’s chain of de- 
ductions. “It seems to me,” he said at length, “that 
this man, clever as he was, owed a great deal to 
accident.” 

“In what respect?” 

“Because the window where you found the foot- 
prints is the only window on that side of the house 
which has a bare patch of earth underneath. All the 
others have grass growing right up to the windows. 
I noticed that when I saw the footprints. If he had 
got out of any of them he would have left no foot- 
prints.” 

“On the contrary, he knew that and chose that win- 
dow because he wanted to leave us some footprints. 
The fact that he selected in the dark the only window 
that would serve his purpose shows that he is a man 
who knows the place well. He is clever and resource- 
ful, but that is no reason why we should riot succeed 
in unmasking him.” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 77 

“Doesn’t the fact that he wore hobnailed boots in- 
dicate that he is a labouring man?” 

“My dear Marsland, may he not have worn boots 
of that kind for the same reason that he walked 
backwards — to mislead us all?” 

“I gathered that you do not agree with Inspector 
Payne that the marks on the stairs were caused by 
the intruder trying to obliterate with a wet cloth the 
marks he made by his muddy boots.” 

“Outside the house he does his best to leave foot- 
prints; and inside, according to Inspector Payne, he 
takes special pains to remove similar traces. It is 
hopeless trying to reconcile the two things,” said 
Crewe. 

“Well, what do you think were the original marks 
on the stairs that the intruder was so anxious to 
remove ?” 

“Blood-stains.” 

“But why should he go to the trouble of removing 
blood-stains on the stairs and yet leave so much blood 
about in the room in which the body was discovered ?” 

“I have asked myself that question,” said Crewe. 
“At the present stage it is very difficult to answer.” 

“You think it adds to the mystery?” 

“For the present it does. But it may prove to be 
a key which will open many closed doors in this in- 
vestigation.” 

“Your mention of closed doors suggests another 
question,” said Marsland. “Why did this man get 
out of the window and walk backwards ? If he wanted 
to leave misleading clues it would have been just as 
easy for him to go out by the front door, walk up to 


78 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

the window from the path so as to leave footprints 
and then force the window from the outside/’ 

“Just as easy,” assented Crewe. “But it would have 
taken longer, because it is more difficult to force 
the catch of a window from the outside than the in- 
side. I think that we must assume that he was pressed 
for time.” 

“But I understand that this man Lumsden lived 
alone. In that case there would be little danger of 
interruption.” 

“A man who has just committed a murder gets into 
a state of nervous alarm,” was Crewe’s reply. “He is 
naturally anxious to get away from the scene of the 
crime.” 

“But if this man knew the place well he must have 
known that Lumsden lived alone, and that the dis- 
covery of the crime would not take place immediately. 
But for the accident of my taking shelter there the 
body might have remained undiscovered for days.” 

“Quite true. But that does not affect my point that 
a murderer is always in a hurry to get away.” 

“Isn’t the fact that he went to the trouble of wash- 
ing out blood-stains on the stairs evidence that he was 
not in a hurry?” 

“No,” said Crewe emphatically. “I should be more 
inclined to accept it as evidence that he expected some 
one to call at the farm — that either he or Lumsden 
had an appointment with some one there.” 

Marsland looked very hard at Crewe as he recalled 
the greeting Miss Maynard had given him when she 
opened the door to his knock. 

“I did not think of that,” he said. 

“That supposition gives us a probable explanation 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 79 

why the blood-stains were wiped off the stairs, and 
not off the floor of the room in which you 
saw the body. The murderer was expecting a vis- 
itor by appointment. The suspicions of this visitor 
would be aroused if he saw blood-stains on the stairs. 
But as he was not expected to go upstairs the murderer 
did not trouble about the stains in the room. This is 
another indication of pressure of time.’' 

Marsland felt that Crewe' was on the track of dis- 
covering Miss Maynard’s presence at the farm. He 
began to see in the light of Crewe’s deductions that 
her chief object in having asked him to keep her name 
out of the affair was to shelter some one else. But 
having given his word he must keep it and stand by 
the consequences. 


CHAPTER VII 


Detective Gillett made a journey to London in 
order to visit Somerset House and inspect the will left 
by James Lumsden, the grandfather of the man who 
had been murdered. He had been able to ascertain, 
from local sources of information at Ashlingsea, some 
of the details of the will, but as an experienced de- 
tective he knew the value of exact details obtained 
from official sources. 

His perusal of the will showed him that Cliff Farm 
and all the testator’s investments and personal prop- 
erty had been left to his nephew Frank, with the ex- 
ception of legacies to three old servants who had been 
in his employ for over a quarter of a century. 

Gillett had ascertained from previous inquiries that 
Frank was at the front in France when his grand- 
father died. He had been brought up at the farm, but 
as his inclinations did not tend to a farming life, 
he had left his grandfather, and gone to London, 
where he had earned a livelihood as a clerk prior to 
enlisting in the Army. According to Ashlingsea gos- 
sip, old James Lumsden had been a man of consider- 
able wealth; though local estimates of his fortune 
varied considerably, ranging from £ 20,000 to five times 
that amount. Gillett’s inspection of the terms of the 
will convinced him that the lower amount was some- 
what nearer the correct figure; and an interview with 
Messrs. Holding, Thomas & Holding, the London 
80 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 8i 

solicitors who had draw-n up the will, supported this 
view. 

It was the elder Mr. Holding, the senior partner 
of the firm, who had transacted Mr. Lumsden’s busi- 
ness and had taken the instructions for drawing up the 
will. The document had been executed seven years 
ago. Mr. Holden, senior, a white haired old gentleman 
whose benign appearance seemed out of harmony with 
the soulless profession he adorned, told Gillett that 
Mr. Lumsden had consulted him on several occasions 
about business matters, but the old man was extremely 
intelligent and capable, and kept his affairs so entirely 
in his own hands that he was not a very profitable 
client. 

The solicitor did not even know the extent of the 
old farmer’s investments, for his client, who hated to 
disclose much of his private affairs even to his 
solicitor, had taken care when the will was drawn up 
not to tell him much about the sources of his in- 
come. Mr. Holding had been consulted by Frank 
Lumsden after he had come into his grandfather’s 
estate, and on his behalf had made some investiga- 
tions concerning the time the old man had converted 
his securities into cash. Of course the grandfather 
had lost heavily in doing so, for the stock market 
was greatly depressed immediately after the war broke 
out. But he had probably realized between ten and 
fifteen thousand pounds in cash. 

Where this money had gone was a mystery. All 
the ready money that Frank Lumsden had handled 
when he came into the property was the sum of 
eighty-five pounds, which had been standing to the 
old farmer’s credit in the bank at Staveley. Most 


82 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


of this amount had been swallowed up by the funeral 
and legal expenses connected with the transfer of the 
deeds. The young man had naturally been eager to 
find some trace of the missing money. Mr Holding 
was inclined to the belief that the old man’s mental 
balance had been disturbed by the war. He thought 
that fear of a German invasion had preyed on his 
mind to such an extent that he had buried his money, 
intending to dig it up after the war was over. Frank 
had sold some of the farming machinery in order to 
provide himself with ready money. In this way t)ver 
£200 had been obtained. 

Nothing had been paid to the three old servants who 
had been left legacies. The old farmer had frac- 
tured his skull through falling downstairs, and had 
died without recovering consciousness, and therefore 
without realizing the emptiness of the reward he had 
left to his faithful servants. To Mrs. Thorpe, his 
housekeeper, he intended to leave £200, and legacies 
of half that amount to two of his old farm-hands, 
Samuel Hockridge and Thomas Jauncey. 

Mrs. Thorpe was a widow who had had charge of 
the domestic management of the house for thirty- 
seven years. Hockridge, who was over seventy years 
of age, had spent over thirty years with James Lums- 
den as shepherd, and Jauncey, another shepherd, had 
been twenty-eight years at Cliff Farm. 

Detective Gillett had no difficulty in tracing each 
of these three old servants and interviewing them. 
Mrs Thorpe had gone to live with a married daughter 
at Woolwich. Gillett found her a comparatively 
cheerful old woman, and, though the loss of her legacy 
which her old master had intended to leave her was a 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 83 

sore memory, she had little complaint to make against 
him. She was full of hope that her master’s money 
would ultimately be found and that she would get 
her legacy. 

Hockridge had gone into the service of a neighbour- 
ing sheep- farmer on the Staveley Downs. It was 
true that his best days were over, but he had a pro- 
found practical knowledge of sheep, and as labour 
was scarce, owing to the war, the farmer had been 
glad to get him. When Gillett interviewed him in his 
new employment he found that the loss of his prom- 
ised legacy from his old master had soured him. To 
the detective’s optimistic view that the missing money 
would be found, he replied that it would be too late 
for him — he would be in his grave. 

One hundred pounds was more than his year’s earn- 
ings, and it represented wealth to him. He dwelt on 
the ease and comfort he would have been able to com- 
mand with so much money. He could give no clue 
regarding the hiding-place of the old farmer’s for- 
tune. He was familiar with every foot of ground on 
the farm, but he knew of no place that suggested a 
hiding-place for a large sum of money. If it had 
been buried, his old master must have buried it him- 
self, and therefore the garden was the most likely 
place. But the garden had been turned over by zeal- 
ous searchers under the direction of Master Frank, 
and no trace of money had been found there. 

It was evident to Detective Gillett that this feeble 
old man had not killed Frank Lumsden. Although he 
regarded the loss of the legacy as the greatest disap- 
pointment that could befall any man, he felt no active 
resentment. He accepted it as a staggering blow from 


84 the mystery OF THE DOWNS 

fate which had dealt him many blows during a long 
life. The detective’s inquiries showed that on the day 
of the murder, and for weeks before it, Hockridge 
performed his ordinary duties on the farm of his new 
employer, and therefore could not have been near 
Cliff Farm, which was ten miles away from the farm 
on which he was now employed. 

Thomas Jauncey was an inmate of Staveley Infirm- 
ary, suffering from a severe attack of rheumatism 
which rendered him unable to get about except with 
the aid of two sticks. Gillett’s inquiries established the 
fact that he was crippled in this way when Frank 
Lumsden was murdered. Nevertheless, he went over 
to Staveley to interview the old man. He found him 
sitting in a chair which had been wheeled into the 
yard to catch the weak rays of the autumn sunshine. 
He was a tall old man, with a large red weather-beaten 
face surrounded by a fringe of white whisker, and his 
two hands, which were crossed on a stick he held in 
front of him, were twisted and gnarled with the rheu- 
matism that had come to him as the result of half a 
century’s shepherding on the bleak downs. The 
mention of the legacy he had not received brought 
a spark of resentment to his dim eyes. 

“Seems to me I ought to have been paid some’et 
of what belongs to me,” he said to Detective Gillett, 
after that officer had engaged him in conversation 
about his late master. “Why didn’t Master Frank 
sell the farm and pay his grandfather’s debts accord- 
ing to what the will said? That’s what ought to be 
done.” 

“Well, of course, he might have done that,” said the 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 85 

detective soothingly. “But there are different ways 
of looking at things.” 

“There is a right way and a wrong way,” said the 
old shepherd, in a tone which ruled out the idea of 
compromise as weakness. “I ought to have been paid 
some’et. That’s what my son says.” 

“Ah!” said Gillett, with sudden interest. “That is 
how your son looks at it, is it? And now I come 
to consider it, I think he’s right. He’s a man with 
ideas.” 

“No one can’t say as he ain’t always been a clever 
lad,” said the withered parent, with a touch of pride 
in his offspring. 

“I’d like to meet him,” said the detective. “Where 
is he to be found ?” 

“He is gard’ner to Mrs. Maynard at Ashlingsea. 
Mrs. Maynard she thinks a heap of him.” 

“Ah, yes,” said Gillett. “I remember Sergeant 
Westaway telling me that you had a son there. I’ll 
look him up and have a talk with him about your 
legacy. We may be able to do something — he and 1.” 

On returning to Ashlingsea, Detective Gillett made 
inquiries concerning the gardener at ‘Beverley,’ the 
house of Mrs Maynard. Sergeant Westaway was 
able to supply him with a great deal of information, 
as he had known young Tom Jauncey for over a score 
of years. Young Tom was only relatively young, 
for he was past forty, but he bore the odd title of 
Young Tom as a label to distinguish him from his 
father, who to the people of Ashlingsea was old 
Tom. 

The information Gillett obtained was not of a 
nature which suggested that young Tom was the sort 


86 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


of man who might commit a murder. Mrs Maynard 
lived on her late husband’s estate two miles south from 
Ashlingsea. The household consisted at present of 
herself, her daughter, a cook, a housemaid and 
young Tom, who was gardener, groom and handy 
man. Young Tom bore a reputation for being '*a 
steady sort of chap.” He liked his glass of ale, and 
was usually to be found at The Black-Horned Sheep 
for an hour or so of an evening, but no one had 
ever seen him the worse for liquor. 

Detective Gillett took a stroll over to “Beverley” in 
order to interview young Tom. The house, an old 
stone building, stood in the midst of its grounds — 
well away from the sea — on a gentle eminence which 
commanded an extensive view of the rolling downs 
for many miles around, but the old stone building 
was sheltered from the fury of Channel gales by a 
plantation of elm-trees. 

The detective found his man digging in the 
kitchen-garden and preparing the ground for the 
spring sowing. Young Tom was a thickset man of 
middle age with a large round face that he had inher- 
ited from his father. He was a man of slow thought, 
slow actions, and hard to move once he had made 
up his mind. According to Gillett’s standards his 
appearance scarcely justified the parental description 
of him as a clever lad. 

The detective was not an expert in gardening, his 
life having been spent in congested areas of London 
where the luxury of a plot of ground is unknown, 
but something in young Tom’s method of digging 
attracted his attention. It was obvious that young 
Tom was not putting much energy into the operation. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 87 

The fact that his shirt-sleeves were not rolled up 
but were buttoned at the wrist seemed to bear out 
this opinion. With his heavy boot young Tom pressed 
down the spade vigorously, but he brought up only 
a thin spadeful of earth each time. Then with his 
spade in his right hand he twisted the blade among 
the earth so as to break it up. 

Detective Gillett brought the conversation round 
from the weather and vegetable growing to his recent 
visit to young Tom’s father. He spoke of the legacy 
and expressed regret that old Tom, who if he had 
his rights would be able to pay for proper care and 
nourishment, should have had to go to the infirmary. 
But, according to Detective Gillett, even adversity had 
its uses. The fact that old Tom was practically bed- 
ridden when the murder was committed prevented the 
idle gossip of the town from trying to connect him 
with the tragedy. 

The detective had not expected to find in young 
Tom a fluent conversationalist, but after a few mo- 
ments he came to the conclusion that he was a more 
than ordinarily hesitating one, even according to 
the slow standard of Ashlingsea. Apparently young 
Tom did not want to discuss the murder. Detective 
Gillett kept the conversation on that subject and soon 
arrived at the conclusion that young Tom was un- 
easy. It came to him suddenly that what was wrong 
with the man’s method of digging was that to all 
practical purpose he was using only one arm. Young 
Tom was careful not to put any weight on his left 
arm. 

'‘What is wrong with your arm?” exclaimed the 
detective in an imperative tone. 


88 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


Tom stopped digging and looked at him. 

‘^Nothing/’ he replied in a surly tone. 

“Let me have a look/' said the detective, stepping 
towards him. 

“No, I won’t,” answered young Tom, stepping back 
slowly. 

Gillett looked him over from head to foot as if 
measuring him. His eyes rested on the man’s boots, 
and then turned to an impression made on the soft 
earth by one of the boots. 

“I want you to come along to the police station 
with me,” he said suddenly. 

“What for?” asked Tom in a tone of defiance. 

Gillett looked him over again as if to assure him- 
self that he had made no mistake in his first meas- 
urements. 

“I’ll tell you when you get there,” was the reply. 

“I had nothing to do with it,” said Tom. 

It was plain to Gillett that the man was under- 
going a mental strain. 

“With what?” asked the detective. 

“With what you want to ask me about.” 

For a clever lad young Tom seemed to be making 
a hash of things. 

“I have not said what it is,” said Gillett. 

“But I know,” said Tom. 

If that was the extent of young Tom’s cleverness 
it seamed to be leading him in the direction of the 
gallows. 

“You think it is about this murder?” suggested 
Gillett. 

There was a long silence. Gillett kept his eyes 
steadily on his man, determined not to help him out 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 89 

by substituting another question for the plain one 
that Tom found it so difficult to answer. 

‘T’ll come with you to the police station/’ said Tom 
at length. “But you go first and Fll follow you 
behind.” 

It was obvious to Detective Gillett that Tom wanted 
to avoid giving the village cause for gossip by his 
being taken to the police station by a detective. The 
detective was not disposed to consider Tom’s feelings, 
but he reflected that his main purpose was to get 
Tom to the station, and that since he was not prepared 
to arrest Tom at present it was desirable to get him 
there as quietly as possible. 

“No,” he said. “You go on ahead and I’ll follow.” 

Tom accepted this plan and walked up the village 
street to the police station with the detective about 
forty yards behind. Constable Heather was in charge 
of the station, and when he saw Tom he greeted him 
affably. When Heather was made to realize by Tom’s 
awkwardness that Detective Gillett was responsible for 
his visit, he whistled in a significant manner. 

When Gillett entered the building Tom rolled up 
the sleeve of his left arm and displayed a bandage 
round the upper part. 

“Do you want to see this?” he asked doggedly. 

“I do,” replied the detective with keen interest. 
He was anxious as to the nature of the wound, but 
he was too cautious to display a curiosity which 
would reveal his ignorance. He assisted at unwind- 
ing the bandage. 

“Be careful,” said Tom wincing, as the detective’s 
hand touched his arm. “The bullet is in it.” 

“Is it?” said Gillett. 


90 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

When the bandage was off he examined the wound 
carefully. It was a bullet wound through the fleshy 
upper part of the arm, dangerously inflamed and swol- 
len from dirt and neglect. 

“You had better get this attended to/' said Gillett. 
“There is a risk of blood poisoning and the bullet 
must be removed. You’ll be more comfortable with- 
out that bullet, and I want it.” 

“I had nothing to do with him,” said Tom. He 
spoke in a loud excited voice. It was evident that 
he was feeling the strain of being under suspicion. 

“But you were at Cliff Farm the night Frank 
Lumsden was murdered,” said Gillett, eyeing him 
closely as he put the question. 

Young Tom nodded a surly admission, but did not 
speak. 

“What were you doing there? How did you get 
this?” Detective Gillett pointed to the wound. 
“Take my advice and make a clean breast of it. 
ril give you five minutes to make up your mind.” 
Gillett picked up a pair of handcuffs from the office 
table as he spoke, and jingled them together non- 
chalantly. 

Young Tom’s ruddy colour faded as he glanced 
at the handcuffs, and from them his eyes wandered 
to Police Constable Heather, as though seeking his 
counsel to help him out of the awkward position in 
which he found himself. But Police Constable 
Heather’s chubby face was set in implacable lines, in 
which young Tom could recognize no trace of the old 
acquaintance who for years past had made one of 
the friendly evening circle in the tap-room of The 
Black-Horned Sheep. Young Tom turned his gaze 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 91 

to the floor and after remaining in silent cogitation 
for some moments spoke : 

'T was in the garden. It was before the storm 
came on. I don’t know who killed Frank Lumsden. 
I didn’t see either of them. They were in the house 
before I got there. I saw a light in a room upstairs. 
Then a gun or something of the kind was fired and 
I felt that I was hit. I got' up and ran.” 

“Do you mean that some one fired at you from the 
house ?” 

“That’s what I mean.” 

“Whereabouts were you?” 

“Just near the cherry-tree at the side of the house.” 

“Did you see who fired it at you?” 

“No.” 

“Didn’t anyone call out and ask you what you 
were doing there?” 

“No.” 

“He just fired — whoever it was.” 

“I heard the gun go off and then I felt a pain in 
my arm. I touched it and saw it was bleeding. Then 
I ran and that is all I know.” 

“I want to know a lot more than that,” said 
Gillett sternly. “Your story won’t hold water. What 
were you doing there in the first place? Why did 
you go there?” 

“I went there to look for the money. I thought 
there was no one at home and I meant to look for it 
in the garden round about.” 

“Did you take a spade with you ?” asked Gillett. 

“What would I want to do that for?” asked Tom. 

“Well, you can’t dig without a spade,” said Gillett. 

“There’s spades enough in the barn,” said Tom. 


92 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


“You meant to dig for the money?’' 

“Yes.” 

“Where?” 

“In the garden.” 

“Whereabouts in the garden ? Don’t you know that 
the garden has been turned over several times ?” 

“I’ve heard that, but I wanted to dig for myself.” 

“It would take one man a week to dig over the 
garden. No one knows that better than you.” 

“I was going to try just near the pear-tree. I 
count that’s a likely place.” 

“And did you dig there?” 

“No. Didn’t I tell you there was lights in the 
house when I got there?” 

“A likely story,” sneered the detective. “You 
went there to dig in the garden, . although you 
knew it had been turned over thoroughly. You 
didn’t take a spade with you, and you didn’t turn 
over as much as a single clod. But you came away 
with a bullet wound in the arm from a house in 
which the murdered body of the owner was subse- 
quently found.” 

Dull as young Tom was, he seemed to realize that 
the detective had a gift of making things appear 
as black as they could be. 

“I’ve told you the truth,” he said obstinately. 

“And I don’t believe a word of your story,” said 
Detective Gillett. 


CHAPTER VIII 


Crewe spent two days in making investigations at 
Cliff Farm and at Ashlingsea. He went over the 
farm very carefully in search of any trace of dis- 
turbed ground which might indicate where old James 
Lumsden had buried the money he had obtained from 
the sale of his investments. But he found nothing 
to support the theory that the money had been buried 
in the fields. 

There were, of course, innumerable places where a 
few bags of money might be hidden, especially along 
the brook which ran through the farm, but though 
Crewe searched along both banks of the brook, as 
well as in the open fields, he found no trace of dis- 
turbed ground. The garden, he ascertained, had been 
thoroughly searched under the direction of Frank 
Lumsden. 

Crewe realized that searching for the money with- 
out the assistance of the mysterious plan which Mars- 
land had seen on the staircase was almost hopeless, 
and he was not affected by his failure. 

His inquiries at Ashlingsea concerned the char- 
acter and habits of the grandfather and the murdered 
man. In the course of his inquiries about the grand- 
son he went up to London and called on the former 
employers of Frank Lumsden, and the firm of Messrs 
Tittering & Hemmings, wholesale leather merchants, 
gave Frank an excellent character. He had been a 
93 


94 the mystery OF THE DOWNS 

sober, industrious, and conscientious clerk, and they 
were greatly shocked at the fate that had befallen 
him. They could throw no light on the murder, for 
they knew of no one who had any enmity against 
Frank. Inquiries were also made by Crewe at the 
headquarters of the London Rifle Brigade, in which 
the young man had enlisted. His military record was 
good, and threw no light on his tragic fate. 

Crewe returned to Staveley to continue his work 
on the case. Sir George Granville, in his anxiety to 
be helpful in solving the mystery, put forward many 
suggestions to his guest, but they were not of a 
practical kind. On points where Crewe did ask for 
his host’s assistance. Sir George was unable to re- 
spond, in spite of his eagerness to play a part in the 
detective’s investigations. For instance. Sir George 
was not able to give any information about the old 
boatman whom Crewe and Marsland had seen at the 
landing-place, at the foot of the cliffs near the scene 
of the tragedy. 

Sir George had often seen the man in the scarlet 
cloak, and knew that he plied for hire on the front, 
but he had never been in the old man’s boat, and 
did not know where he lived or anything about him 
beyond the fact that he was called Pedro by the 
Staveley boatmen, and was believed to be an Italian. 

“I’ll tell you what, Crewe,” said Sir George, a 
bright idea occurring to him as the result of reac- 
tionary consciousness that he was not a mine of in- 
formation in local matters. “You go up and see 
Inspector Murchison. He’s a rare old gossip. He 
has been here for a generation and knows everybody 
and all about them. And mention my name — I’ll 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 95 

give you my card. You will find he will do anything 
for me. Ed go along with you myself, only I have 
promised to make a call with Mildred. But Harry 
will go with you — Harry knows Murchison; I intro- 
duced him yesterday on the front.” 

After lunch, Crewe, accompanied by Marsland, 
walked up to the police station 2i\ Staveley to call on 
Inspector Murchison. The police station was a 
building of grey stone, standing back in a large 
garden. It would have been taken for a comfortable 
middle-class residence but for the official notices of 
undiscovered crime which were displayed on a black 
board erected in the centre flower-bed. A young 
policeman was sitting writing in a front room over- 
looking the garden, which had been turned into a 
general office. 

Crewe, without disclosing his name or using Sir 
George’s card, asked him if he could see the inspector 
in charge. The young policeman, requesting him to 
take a seat, said he would inquire if the inspector was 
disengaged, and disappeared into an inner office. He 
shortly returned to say that Inspector Murchison 
would see them, and ushered them into the inner 
office, where a police officer sat writing at a large 
desk. 

Inspector Murchison of Staveley was in every 
way a contrast to Police-Sergeant, Westaway of 
Ashlingsea. He was a large and portly man with a 
good-humoured smile, twinkling blue eyes, and a 
protecting official manner which ladies who had occa- 
sion to seek his advice found very soothing. He 
had been stationed at Staveley for nearly thirty years, 
but instead of souring under his circumscribed exist- 


96 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

ence like Sergeant Westaway, he had expanded with 
the town, and become more genial and good-tempered 
as the years rolled on. 

He was a popular and important figure in Staveley, 
taking a deep and all-embracing interest in the wel- 
fare of the town and its inhabitants. He was a leading 
spirit in every local movement for Staveley’s ad- 
vancement ; he was an authority in its lore, traditions, 
vital statistics, and local government; he had even 
written a booklet in which the history of Staveley 
was set forth and its attractions as a health and pleas- 
ure resort were described in superlative terms. He 
was regarded by the residents as a capable mentor 
and safe guide in all affairs of life, and was the 
chosen receptacle of many domestic confidences of 
a delicate and important nature. Husbands con- 
sulted him about their wives' extravagance; wives 
besought him to warn husbands against the folly of 
prolonged visits to hotels on the front because there 
happened to be a new barmaid from London. 

It was striking proof of Inspector Murchison's 
rectitude that, although he was the repository of as 
many domestic histories as a family physician or 
lawyer, none of the confidences given him had ever 
become common gossip. For all his kindly and talka- 
tive ways, he was as secret and safe as the grave, 
despite the fact that he had a wife and five grown- 
up daughters not less curious than the rest of their 
sex. He was an efficient police officer, carefully 
safeguarding the public morals and private property 
entrusted to his charge, and Staveley shopkeepers, 
as they responded to his smiling salutations when he 
walked abroad, felt that they could sleep in peace in 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 97 

their beds, safe from murder, arson, or robbery,' 
while his portly imposing official personality guarded 
the town. 

Inspector Murchison swung round on his office chair 
as Crewe and Marsland were brought in by the young 
policeman. 

'‘What can I do for you, gentlemen?’^ he asked 
courteously. 

"This is Mr Crewe,’" said Marsland. "Mr Crewe 
has been making inquiries about the murder at Cliff 
Farm.” 

"Glad to see you both,” said Inspector Murchison, 
extending his hand. "If I can be of any assistance 
to Mr Crewe he has only to say so. Of course I’ve 
heard all about the murder at Cliff Farm. It was 
you who discovered the body, Mr Marsland. A ter- 
rible affair. Poor, inoffensive Frank Lumsden! I 
knew him well, and his grandfather too — a queer old 
stick. Buried his money where no one can find it. 
And that is what is at the back of this murder, Mr 
Crewe, I have no doubt.” 

"It certainly looks like it,” said Crewe. 

"What is your opinion, inspector, with regard to 
the money?” asked Marsland. "Do you think that 
young Lumsden found it and refused to pay the 
legacies, or that it has never been found?” 

"It has never been found,” said Inspector Murchi- 
son in a positive tone. "I’m quite certain of that. 
Why, it is scarcely more than a week ago that young 
Lumsden and his friend Brett came to ask me if I 
could throw any light on it. They had a mysterious 
looking cryptogram that young Lumsden had found 
among his grandfather’s papers, and they were cer- 


98 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

tain that it referred to the hidden money. They 
showed it to me, but I could not make head or tail 
of it I recommended them to go and see a man 
named Grange who keeps a second-hand book shop 
in Curzon Street, oif High Street. He’s a bibliophile, 
and would be able to put them on the track of a 
book about cryptograms, even if he hadn’t one in stock 
himself.” 

“What was the cryptogram like?” asked Marsland. 
“Was it like this?” He took up a pen from the table 
and attempted to reproduce a sketch of the mysteri- 
ous document he had found on the stairs at Cliif 
Farm. 

“Something like that,” said the inspector. “How 
do you come to know about it?” 

“I found it at the dead man’s house before I dis- 
covered the body. I left it there, but it was stolen 
between the time I left the house and when I returned 
with Sergeant Westaway. At any rate it has not 
been seen since.” 

“Ah,” said the inspector, “there you have the mo- 
tive for the murder.” 

“You spoke just now of young Lumsden’s friend, 
Brett,” said Crewe. “Who is Brett?” 

“He lives in Staveley — a young fellow with a little 
private means. He and Lumsden were close friends — 
I have often seen them together about the town. They 
served in the same regiment, were wounded together, 
taken prisoners together by the Germans, tortured 
together, and escaped together.” 

“Brett?” exclaimed Marsland in a tone which 
awakened Crewe’s interest. “I know no one named 
Brett.” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 99 

^‘No, of course you wouldn’t know him, Mr Mars- 
land,” said the inspector genially. “You have not 
been so long in Staveley that you can expect to know 
all the residents. It’s not a very large place, but it 
takes time to know all the people in it.” 

“I was thinking of something else,” said Marsland. 

“What sort of man was Brett to look at?” asked 
Crewe of the inspector. 

“About the same age as Lumsden — just under 
thirty, I should say. A thin, slight, gentlemanly 
looking tfellow. Rather a better class than poor 
Lumsden. I often wondered what they had in com- 
mon.” 

Crewe, who was watching the effect of this descrip- 
tion on Marsland, pressed for further particulars. 

“Average height?” he asked. 

“A little under,” replied the inspector. “Dark com- 
plexion with a dark moustache — what there was of 
it.” 

“I think you said he had been wounded and cap- 
tured by the Germans?” said Marsland. 

“Tortured rather than wounded,” replied the in- 
spector. “The Germans are fiends, not men. Brett 
and Lumsden were captured while out in a listening 
patrol, and because they wouldn’t give their captors 
any information they were tortured. But these brave 
lads refused to give the information the Germans 
wanted, and ultimately they succeeded in making their 
escape during an attack. I’ve listened to many of 
the experiences of our brave lads, but I don’t think 
I’ve heard anything worse than the treatment of Brett 
and this poor fellow who has been murdered.” 


100 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


“Was it at Armentieres this happened?” asked 
Marsland. 

“I think it was,” replied the inspector. “Then youVe 
heard the story, too, Mr. Marsland?” 

“No, I was thinking of something else,” he an- 
swered. 

“We must look up Brett,” said Crewe. “Just write 
down his address, inspector — if you don’t mind.” 

“He lives at No. 41 Whitethorn Gardens,” said the 
police officer. “But I don’t think you will find him 
there to-day. His landlady, Mrs. Penfield, promised to 
send me word as soon as he got back. When I heard of 
this murder I went down to see Brett to find out 
when he had last seen Lumsden, and to get a state- 
ment from him. But he had gone up to London 
or Liverpool the day before the murder. Mrs. Pen- 
field expects him back early next week, but it is im- 
possible to be certain about his return. The fact 
is, Mr Crewe, that he does some secret service work 
for the Foreign Office, and naturally doesn’t talk 
much about his movements. He is an excellent 
linguist I’m told, knows French and Russian and 
German — speaks these languages like a native.” 

“There is no hurry about seeing him,” said Crewe. 
“I’ll look him up when he returns. In the mean- 
time will you write down his address for me ?” 

Marsland, who was nearer the inspector, took the 
paper on which the police officer wrote Brett’s 
address, and before handing it to Crewe looked at 
it carefully. 

“And now can you tell me anything about an old 
boatman who wears a scarlet cloak?” asked Crewe. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS loi 


‘'A tall old man, with a hooked nose and white 
beard 

‘'That’s old Pedro,” replied Inspector Murchison. 
“He’s well known on the front, although he’s not 
been here very long, certainly not more than twelve 
months. But I hope you don’t think Pedro had any- 
thing to do with the Cliff Farm murder, Mr. Crewe? 
We’re rather proud of Pedro on the front, he’s an 
attraction to the place, and very popular with the 
ladies.” 

“Marsland and I saw him in his boat at an old 
landing-place near the farm a few days ago,” re- 
plied Crewe. “He’s a man not easily forgotten — once 
seen. I’d like to find out what took him over in the 
direction of Ashlingsea.” 

“He’s often over there,” said the inspector. “That 
is his favourite trip for his patrons — across the bay 
and over to the cliff landing, as we call it. That is 
the landing at the foot of the cliffs near Cliff Farm 
— I daresay you noticed it, Mr Crewe?” 

“Yes. They told me at Ashlingsea that the land- 
ing-place and boat-house belong to Cliff Farm — that 
they were put up by old James Lumsden.” 

“That is right,” said the inspector. “The old man 
used to do a bit of fishing — that is ten or fifteen 
years ago when he was an active man, though getting 
on a bit — a strange thing to combine farming and 
fishing, wasn’t it? But he was a queer sort in many 
ways, was James Lumsden.” 

“And where is this man with the scarlet cloak 
to be found when he is not on the front?” asked 
Crewe. “Pd like to have a little talk with him.” 


102 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


^‘You’ll find that rather difficult/’ said the inspector 
with a laugh. ‘‘Old Pedro is deaf and dumb.” 

“Has he any friends here, or does he live alone?” 

“He came here with his daughter and her husband 
and he lives with them. His daughter is a dwarf — 
a hunchback — and is supposed to be a bit of a clair- 
voyant or something of that kind. The husband 
is English, but not a very robust type of Englishman. 
They have a shop in Curzon Street off High Street — 
second-hand books.” 

“What is his name?” asked Crewe. 

“Grange.” 

“And it was to this man you recommended young 
Lumsden to go for a book on cryptograms?” 

“Yes; the same man,” said the inspector. “I can 
tell you a queer thing about his wife. I’ve said she 
is a bit of a clairvoyant. Well, you know there is 
not much love lost between the police and clairvoyants ; 
most of them are shallow frauds who play on the 
ignorant gullible public. But Mrs. Grange is differ- 
ent: she isn’t in the business professionally. And, 
being a broad-minded man, I am ready to admit that 
there may be something in clairvoyance and spiritual- 
ism, in spite of the fact that they are usually asso- 
ciated with fraud. Well, one of my men, Constable 
Bell, lost a pendant from his watch-chain. It was 
not very valuable, but it had a sentimental value. He 
had no idea where he lost it, but he happened to men- 
tion it to Mrs. Grange — this dwarf woman — and she 
told him she might be able to help him in finding it. 

“She took him into a sitting-room above the shop, 
and after getting his watch from him held it in her 
hands for a few moments. She told him to keep per- 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 103 

fectly still, and concentrate his mind on the article he 
had lost. She closed her eyes and went into a sort 
of trance. Then in a strange far-away voice she 
said, T see water — pools of water among the rocks. 
I see a man and a woman walking near the rocks, 
arm in arm. I see the man take the woman in his 
arms to kiss her, and the pendant, caught by a button 
of her blouse, drops into the pool at their feet.’ That 
was true about the kissing. Bell when off duty visited 
Horseley three miles from here, with his sweetheart, 
and he thought the dwarf must have seen them and 
was having a joke at his expense. However, he 
cycled over to Horseley when the tide was out next 
day, and much to his surprise he found the pendant 
in the water — just as the dwarf had told him. How 
do you account for a thing like that, Mr. Crewe?” 

‘‘It is very difficult to account for,” said Crewe. 
“Does this dwarf hold spiritualistic seances?” 

“Not that I am aware of,” replied the inspector. 
“If she does, it is in a private capacity, and not as 
a business.” 

“Her acquaintance is worth cultivating. We will 
go and see her, Marsland.” 

Crewe cordially thanked Inspector Murchison for 
the information he had supplied, and set out with 
Marsland for Mr. Grange’s shop in Curzon Street. 

“A good man, Murchison; he has given us a lot 
of information,” he said to his companion as they 
drove along. 

“It seemed very scrappy and incomplete to me,” 
was Marsland’s reply. 

“Gossipy is the right word — not scrappy. And 
there is nothing more valuable than gossipy informa- 


104 the mystery of THE DOWNS 

tion; it enables you to fill in so many blanks in 
your theory — if you have one.” 

‘Wou have formed your theory of how this tragedy 
occurred?” said Marsland interrogatively. 

“Part of one,” replied Crewe. 

Marsland accepted this reply as an intimation that 
the detective was not prepared to disclose his theory 
at that stage. 

“That story about the pendant was remarkable,” 
he said. “Do you believe it?” 

“It is not outside the range of possibility,” re- 
plied Crewe. “Some remarkable results have been 
achieved by psychists who possess what they call 
mediumistic powers.” 

“Do you really think it possible that, by surrender- 
ing herself to some occult influence, this woman was 
able to reproduce for herself the scene between Con- 
stable Bell and his sweetheart, and see the pendant 
drop ?” 

“That is the way in which psychists would explain 
it, but I think it can be accounted for in a much less 
improbable way. I know, from my own investiga- 
tions into spiritualism and its claims, that some medi- 
ums are capable, under favourable conditions, of 
reading a little of another person’s thoughts, provided 
the other person is sympathetic and tries to help. But 
even in this limited field failure is more frequent than 
success. But let us suppose that Constable Bell was 
an extremely sympathetic subject on this occasion. 
How was this woman, after getting Bell to concentrate 
his thoughts on the events of the day when he lost the 
pendant, able to discover it by reading Bell’s 
thoughts?” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 105 

'‘Beirs thoughts would not be of much help to her, 
as he did not remember when or how he lost the pend- 
ant,” said Marsland. 

'The point I am aiming at is that sub-consciously 
Bell may have been aware of the conditions under 
which he lost the pendant, and yet not consciously 
aware of them. The human brain does not work as 
a uniform piece of machinery; it works in sections 
or in compartments. Suppose part of Bell’s brain 
became aware that the pendant had become detached 
and tried to communicate the fact to that part of Bell’s 
brain where he keeps toll of his personal belongings. 
That would be the normal procedure, and under nor- 
mal conditions a connection between these two com- 
partments of the brain would be established, and 
Bell would stoop down and pick up the pendant. 
But on this occasion Bell was intoxicating himself with 
kisses and had put his brain into an excitable state. 
Possibly that part which keeps toll of his personal 
possessions was particularly excited at the prospect of 
adding the lady to the list of Bell’s belongings. 

"Let us assume that it was too excited to hear 
the small warning voice which was crying out about 
the lost pendant. And when Bell’s brain had be- 
come normal the small voice had become too weak 
to be heard. It was never able subsequently to estab- 
lish a connection between that part of the brain to 
which it belonged and that part where Bell keeps 
toll of his property — perhaps it never tried again, 
being under the impression that its first attempts had 
succeeded. And so when Bell was asked by Mrs. 
Grange to concentrate his thoughts on the lost pendant 
he was able to reproduce the state in which his brain 


lo6 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


was at the time, and the medium was able to hear 
the warning in Bell’s brain which Bell himself had 
never consciously heard.” 

Marsland looked hard at Crewe to see whether he 
was speaking jestingly or seriously, for he had been 
shrewd enough to discover that the detective had a 
habit at times of putting forth fanciful theories the 
more effectually to conceal his real thoughts. It was 
when Crewe talked most that he revealed least, Ma^s- 
land thought. But as Crewe’s face, as usual, did 
not reveal any clue to his mind, the young man mur- 
mured something about the explanation of the pend- 
ant being interesting, but unscientific. 

“What science cannot explain, it derides,” was 
Crewe’s reply. 

“Do you sympathize with the complaints of the 
spiritualists, that scientists adopt an attitude of nega- 
tion and derision towards spiritualism, instead of an 
attitude of investigation?” continued Marsland in- 
quiringly. 

“I think there is some truth in that complaint, 
though as far as I am concerned I have not found 
much truth in spiritualism. However, Mrs. Grange 
may be able to convince me that she uses her powers 
to enlighten, and not to deceive. I am most anxious 
to see her.” 


CHAPTER IX 


Staveley only differed from a hundred other Eng- 
lish seaside resorts by having a sea front which was 
quite flat, the cliffs which skirted the coastline from 
Ashlingsea falling away and terminating in sand dunes 
about half a mile to the south of the town. At that 
point the cliff road, after following the coastline 
for nearly twelve miles, swept inland round the sand 
dunes, which had encroached on the downs more 
than half a mile from the sea, but turned back again 
near the southern outskirts of the town in a bold pic- 
turesque curve to the sea front. 

From the sea front the town rambled back with 
characteristically English irregularity of architecture 
to the downs. There was the usual seaside mix- 
ture of old and new houses, the newest flaunting 
their red-tiled ugliness from the most beautiful slopes 
of the distant hills. 

Crewe and Marsland drove slowly along to High 
Street by way of the front after leaving the police 
station. A long row of boarding-houses and hotels 
faced the sea ; and there were pleasure boats, bathing- 
machines, a pier and a bandstand. The season was 
practically over, but a number of visitors still re- 
mained, making the most of the late October sun- 
shine, decorously promenading for air and exercise. 
It was a typically English scene, except that the band 
107, 


io8 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


was playing German music and the Kursaal still 
flaunted its German name. 

The front was bisected about midway by the main 
business thoroughfare of the town, and there was a 
sharp distinction between the two halfs of the prom- 
enade which it divided. The upper half was the 
resort of fashion and the mode : the hotels were bigger 
and more expensive; the boarding-houses were des- 
ignated private hotels. All the amusements were 
situated in this part of the front: the pleasure boats, 
the pier, the band, the goat carts, and the Bath chairs. 
The lower part of the front was practically deserted, 
its hotels and boarding-houses looked empty and 
neglected, and its whole aspect was that of a poor 
relation out of place in fashionable surroundings. 

Although Marsland did not know much about 
Staveley he was able to guide Crewe to Curzon 
Street, and once in Curzon Street they had not much 
difficulty in finding the shop kept by Mr. Grange. It 
was a curious little white house standing back a few 
feet from the footpath, and trays of second-hand books 
were arranged on tables outside. 

Crewe, after getting out of his car, began an in- 
spection of the books on the trays outside the shop, 
and while engaged in this way he saw a young lady 
being shown out of the shop. She was a well dressed 
graceful girl, not much more than twenty. Behind her 
was the shopkeeper, a tall thin man past middle age, 
with a weak irresolute face disfigured by some cutane- 
ous disorder, small ferrety grey eyes, and a straggling 
beard. As he opened the door to let the young lady 
out Crewe's quick ears heard him remark : 

‘'Well, as I said, we didn’t go because we saw the 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 109 

storm coming up. I’m very glad now we didn’t, as 
things turned out. It’s a dreadful affair — dreadful.” 

To Crewe’s surprise Marsland stepped forward 
when he saw the young lady, lifted his hat and put 
out his hand. Crewe thought she hesitated a little 
before responding. 

‘T am glad to see you, Miss Maynard,” Marsland 
declared. ‘‘You are the very person I wanted to see. 
But this is quite an unexpected meeting.” 

“It is very kind of you,” said the young lady with a 
smile. 

To Crewe it was evident that she was more em- 
barrassed than pleased at the meeting. 

Marsland walked along the street a few paces with 
Miss Maynard and then came back to Crewe. 

“Please excuse me for half an hour or so, Crewe. 
I have some things to talk over with this lady.” 

He rushed back to Miss Maynard’s side without 
waiting for an answer. Crewe watched them for a 
moment and then he became aware that the shop- 
keeper standing at his doorway was watching them 
with a gaze of perplexity. 

“Mr Grange, I believe?” said Crewe. 

The shopkeeper produced a pair of spectacles from 
his pocket and put them on before replying. With 
the spectacles on his small grey eyes he peered at 
Crewe, and said: 

“What can I do for you, sir?” 

Crewe saw that the man was ill at ease, and he 
endeavoured to bring him back to his normal state. 

“Have you a copy of a book called Notitice 
Monasticaf' asked the detective. “It’s a work on the 
early British religious establishments,” he explained. 


no THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


‘‘No, sir: I don’t think I’ve ever heard of the book. 
But perhaps I could get you one if you particularly 
want it.” 

“You might try and let me know. I’ll leave you 
my address. Inspector Murchison told me that if 
anyone could help me you could.” 

“Inspector Murchison?” echoed Mr Grange peering 
again at Crewe. 

“He was most enthusiastic about you,” continued 
Crewe. “He said that if ever he wanted to know 
anything about rare books he would come to you. 
You have a good friend in the inspector, Mr Grange.” 

“I did not know — yes I think so — it was very 
good of him — very good indeed.” Mr Grar^e was 
both relieved and pleased at being commended by 
the head of the local police, for he smiled at Crewe, 
blinked his eyes, and rubbed his hands together. 

“And about Mrs Grange he was no less enthusi- 
astic,” continued Crewe. “He told me about her 
extraordinary psychic powers and the recovery of 
Constable Bell’s watch-chain pendant. A most re- 
markable case. I take a great interest in occultism, 
Mr. Grange, and in all forms of psychic power — I 
have done so for years. Perhaps your wife would 
grant me the favour of an interview? I should so 
much like to meet her and talk to her.” 

“Certainly,” exclaimed Mr. Grange, who was now 
delighted with his visitor. “I am sure she would like 
to meet a gentleman like yourself who is interested 
in — er — occultism. Excuse me while I run upstairs 
to her.” 

He left the shop by a side-door opening on the 
passage leading to the private apartments above the 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS in 


shop. A few minutes later he came back with an 
invitation to Crewe to follow him upstairs to the 
sitting-room. Crewe followed him into a room which 
overlooked the street. In an arm-chair beside one of 
the two windows sat Mrs. Grange. She rose to meet 
Crewe. She was about four feet in height but her 
deformed figure seemed to make her look smaller. 
Her skin was dark and coarse and her teeth were large. 
On her upper lip there was a slight growth of hair 
and her eyebrows were very thick and shaggy. She had 
deep black eyes, and after her bow to Crewe sHe gazed 
at him in a fixed penetrating way — the look of an ani- 
mal on the watch. 

Crewe took particular note of the way in which 
her black hair was dressed. He closed the door be- 
hind him and took a seat near it when the dwarf sat 
down in her arm-chair. Mr. Grange stood a few feet 
from his wife and again rubbed his hands together to 
express his satisfaction. 

‘Tt is very good of you to see me/^ said Crewe to 
the dwarf. ‘T was so much struck with the account 
Inspector Murchison gave me of your psychic powers 
that it occurred to me that you might be able to 
assist me in a somewhat similar way to that in which 
you assisted Constable Bell.” 

“I shall be pleased to try,” said the dwarf slowly. 
“But success is not always possible.” She spoke in 
a thin high pitched voice. 

“So I understood,” said Crewe. “But my case is, I 
think, less difficult than that of Constable Bell. I 
have not lost anything. On the contrary I have found 
something, which I want to restore to the owner. 


1 12 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


If I gave you this thing I have found to hold, you 
could describe the owner to me could you not?” 

'Tt is possible,” said the dwarf. 

Crewe produced from one of the pockets of his 
motor coat a brown paper parcel. He unwrapped 
the paper, keeping covert observation on the Granges 
as he did so, and displayed the old felt hat which he 
had found while making his way down the path 
from the top of the cliff. 

‘T am anxious to restore this to its owner,” he 
said, as he held out the hat to the dwarf. 

He intercepted the glance of angry reproach which 
she gave her husband. The latter had stopped rub- 
bing his hands and now stood gazing alternately at 
the hat and at Crewe, with visible trepidation on his 
features. The dwarf gave the hat a quick glance, and 
then resolutely turned to Crewe. 

“It is of no value,” she said, in her high pitched 
voice, meeting his glance intently. 

“Of very little value — from the monetary point of 
view,” said Crewe. “But there are other reasons 
why the owner would like to have it restored to him. 
Do you think you could help me to find him?” 

“No,” she replied decisively. “I could not help 
you.” 

“Why ?” asked Crewe. 

“Because it does not interest me. I must feel an 
interest — I must feel in sympathy with the object 
on which I am asked to exert my powers. Without 
such sympathy I can do nothing, for when I close 
my eyes to see the vision I become as blind as those 
born without sight.” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 113 

‘‘And you have no interest in helping me to restore 
this hat to its owner?” asked Crewe. 

“None,” she replied. 

“And you ?” said Crewe, turning to her husband. 

“I — I know nothing about it,” he stammered. “It 
is not mine.” 

“This hat was lost over the cliffs near Ashlingsea. 
It was lost the night that the murdered body of the 
owner of the Cliff Farm was found. The owner was 
so anxious to secure possession of it that the morning 
after the murder he sent a boatman over towthe scene 
to look for it. Is not that correct?” asked Crewe look- 
ing searchingly at Mr. Grange. 

“I know nothing about it,” was the reply. 

“Perhaps you would like to try it on,” said Crewe, 
picking up the hat and holding it out to the woman’s 
husband. 

“Me?” exclaimed the man, recoiling as he spoke. 
“Why should I? It is not mine.” 

“Come,” said Crewe, “I will exchange the hat for 
a candid statement of what happened at Cliff Farm 
on that fateful night.” 

“It is not his,” declared the dwarf. “We know 
nothing about Cliff Farm — we have never been there.” 


CHAPTER X 


'Will you come to some place where we can have 
a talk?” 

“Yes. Where shall we go?” 

Her eyes met his frankly, as she replied, and Mars- 
land as he looked at her was impressed with her beauty 
and the self-possession of her manner. She was 
young, younger than he had thought on the night of 
the storm — not more than twenty-two or twenty- 
three at the most — and as she stood there, with the 
bright autumn sunshine revealing the fresh beauty of 
her face and the slim grace of her figure, she made 
a striking picture of dainty English girlhood, to whom 
the sordid and tragic sides of life ought to be a sealed 
book. But Marsland’s mind, as he glanced at her, 
travelled back to his first meeting with her in the 
lonely farm-house where they had found the body of 
the murdered man on the night of the storm. 

He led her to one of the numerous tea-rooms on 
the front, choosing one which was nearly empty, his 
object being to have a quiet talk with her. Since the 
eventful night on which he had walked home with her 
after they had discovered the dead body of the owner 
of Cliff Farm, several important points had arisen on 
which he desired to enlighten her, and others on which 
he desired to be enlightened by her. 

“I thought of writing to you,” he said after he had 
found seats for his companion and himself in a quiet 
114 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 115 

corner of the large tea-room and had given an order 
to the waitress. “But I came to the conclusion that it 
was unwise — that you might not like it.” 

He found it difficult to strike a satisfactory balance 
in his attitude to her. On the one hand, it was im- 
possible to be distant and formal in view of the fact 
that they were united in keeping from the police the 
secret of her presence at Cliff Farm on the night of 
the murder; on the other hand, he did not wish to 
adopt a tone of friendly familiarity based on his 
knowledge that she had something to hide. When he 
studied her from the young man’s point of view as 
merely an attractive member of the opposite sex he felt 
that she was a charming girl whose affection any one 
might be proud to win, but his security against her 
charms was the feeling of distrust that any one so 
good-loolfing should have anything to hide. He had no 
sentimental illusion that she would confide her secret 
to him. 

She waited for him to continue the conversation, and 
pretended to be engaged in glancing round the room, 
but from time to time she gave him a quick glance 
from beneath her long lashes. 

“What I wanted to tell you most of all is that, when 
I went back to Cliff Farm the next day, the detec- 
tive from Scotland Yard found a comb on the floor 
of the sitting-room downstairs where we sat after you 
let me in.” 

“A comb!” she cried. “What sort of a comb?” 

“A tortoise-shell comb about three inches long, with 
a gold mounting.” 

“That is strange,” she said. ‘Tt was found on the 

floor?” 


ii6 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


‘‘Close to the chair where you stood.” 

“Do they know whom it belongs to?” 

“No, fortunately. But they are very anxious to 
find out. Naturally they think it points to the con- 
clusion that there is a woman in the case.” 

“Of course they would think that,” she said. 

“Do you think any one in Ashlingsea could identify 
it as yours ?” he asked. “Have you had it any length 
of time?” 

“It was not mine,” she declared. “I did not lose a 
comb.” 

“Not yours?” he exclaimed in astonishment. 

“I am trying to think to whom it belonged,” she said 
meditatively. “As far as I know, lady visitors at Cliff 
Farm were few. And yet it could not be Mrs. Bond — 
the woman who went there to tidy up the place once 
a week — you say it was gold mounted ?” 

“Rather an expensive looking comb, I thought,” said 
the young man. 

“Yes; it looks as if there was a woman in the case.” 

The arrival of the waitress with the tea-things 
brought about a lengthy pause in the conversation. 

To Marsland it looked as if there must be two 
women in the case if the comb did not belong to Miss 
Maynard. But he was not altogether satisfied with 
her statement that it was not hers. It is difficult for a 
young man of impressionable age to regard a good- 
looking girl as untruthful, but Marsland recalled other 
things which indicated that she was not averse to seek- 
ing refuge in false statements. He remembered her 
greeting when he had knocked at the farm-house on the 
night of the storm. “Where have you been?” was 
the question she put to him, and then she had added, 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 117 

‘T have been wondering what could have happened to 
you.” 

They were not questions which might reasonably be 
directed to a chance visitor on such a night, and he re- 
membered that there had been a note of impatience 
in her voice. This impatience harmonized with the 
start of surprise which she gave when he spoke to her. 
Obviously she had been expecting some one and had 
mistaken his knock for the arrival of the man for 
whom she had been waiting. And yet her subsequent 
story to Marsland in explanation of her presence at 
the farm was that she had been overtaken by the storm 
and had sought shelter there. She had made no ref- 
erence to the man whom she had expected to see when 
she opened the door in response to Marsland’s knock. 
When directly questioned on the matter she had de- 
clared that it was Frank Lumsden she had expected 
to see. 

“Whom do the police suspect ?” she asked, after the 
waitress had departed. 

“I do not think they suspect any one in particular 
just yet,” he replied. 

“Have they no clue of any kind?” 

“They have several clues of a kind. They have dis- 
covered some footprints outside the window of the 
room in which we sat. The window itself has been 
forced. And that reminds me of something else I 
wanted to tell you. The police have naturally ques- 
tioned me in order to obtain any light I can throw on 
the mystery. One of the first things they asked me 
was how I got into the house. I told them that the 
door was open, and that as no one came when I 


ii8 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


knocked I walked in and sat down. I think that was 
what you told me you did.” 

“Yes,” she replied. “The door was open.” 

“You see, I forgot to fortify myself with a ready 
made story which would fit all these questions. The 
theory of the police at present is that the murderer 
was in the house all the time we were there.” 

“Oh !” she exclaimed. It was obvious that she was 
deeply interested in that theory. “Because of the crash 
we heard?” 

“Partly because of that, and partly because that 
strange looking document we found on the stairs has 
disappeared. It was gone when I went back to the 
house with the police sergeant. Their theory is that 
the murderer was in the house when I arrived — that 
is, when you arrived — but of course they didn’t know 
about your being there. As they reconstruct the trag- 
edy, the murderer was making his way downstairs with 
the plan in his hand just as I — meaning you — arrived 
at the door. In his alarm he dropped the plan and 
retreated upstairs. The crash we heard was made by 
him knocking down a picture that hung on the wall 
near the top of the staircase — that is on the second 
floor. After we left the house he came down, found 
the plan in the sitting-room and made off with it.” 

“To think of his being in the house all the time I 
was there alone!” she said. “It makes me shudder 
even now.” 

“The police are under the impression that they will 
not have much difficulty in getting hold of him, but 
on the other hand Mr. Crewe thinks there are some 
puzzling mysterious features which the police have 
overlooked.” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 119 

“Mr. Crewe!” she exclaimed. “Do you mean the 
famous London detective?” 

“Yes.” 

“How does he come into it?” 

“My uncle, Sir George Granville, is responsible for 
that. Perhaps you know him?” 

“I know him by sight,” she said. 

“I have been staying with him,” continued the young 
man. “And when I rang him up from the police sta- 
tion at Ashlingsea, after leaving you, he was greatly 
excited about my discovery. He knows Crewe very 
well — they used to be interested in chess, and that 
brought them together. Crewe had come down to 
Staveley for the week-end as my uncle’s guest, and 
they were sitting up for me when I telephoned from 
Ashlingsea.” 

“Was that Mr. Crewe who was with you this morn- 
ing?” she asked. 

“Yes. Rather a fine looking man, don’t you think ?” 

She had other things to think of than the appeal of 
Mr. Crewe’s appearance to her feminine judgment. 

“What did he want at Grange’s shop ?” she asked. 

It occurred to him that he would like to ask that 
question concerning her own visit there. What he 
said was : 

“He wanted to make some inquiries there.” 

“Inquiries?” She looked at him steadily, but as 
he did not offer further information she had to put 
her anxiety into words. “About this comb?” 

“As a matter of fact, I am not fully in his con- 
fidence,” said Marsland with a constrained smile. 
“Crewe is a man who keeps his own counsel. He has 
to, in his line of business.” 


120 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


She was not quite sure that a rebuke was contained 
in this reply, but she gave herself the benefit of the 
doubt. 

‘'Does Mr. Crewe know that J was at Cliff Farm 
that night?” she asked. 

“No. I thought I made my promise on that point 
quite definite.” 

“You did,” was her candid reply to his undoubted 
rebuke. “But I will release you from that promise 
if you think you ought to tell him.” 

“I am under no obligation to tell him anything 
more than I have told the police.” 

“I thought that perhaps the fact that your uncle 
has brought Mr. Crewe into the case might make a 
difference.” 

As he made no reply to that suggestion she branched 
off to something else that was in her mind : 

“Do you think Mr. Crewe is as clever as people 
say he is?” 

“There is no doubt that he is a very remarkable 
man. I have already had proof of his wonderfully 
quick observation.” 

“Then I suppose there is no doubt that he will find 
out who killed Frank Lumsden?” 

He looked at her steadily as he replied: 

“His appearance in the case lessens the guilty per- 
son’s chance of escape. But Mr. Crewe does not 
claim to solve every mystery which is presented to 
him.” 

“Do you think he will solve this one?” she asked. 

He knew that she had a secret reason for hoping 
that some aspect of it would prove insoluble, but 
this knowledge did not influence his reply. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 121 


“It may baffle him/^ he replied meditatively. “But 
I have been so deeply impressed with the keenness 
of his observations and his methods of deduction that 
I feel sure he will get very near to the truth.” 


CHAPTER XI 


Crewe walked to the street known as Whitethorn 
Gardens, which he learned was situated in the older 
portion of the town, off the less fashionable end of 
the front. It was a narrow street, steep of ascent, full 
of old stone houses of deserted appearance, which 
faced cobbled footways from behind prim grass-plots. 
It looked like a place which had seen better days 
and was proud in its poverty, for very few “Apart- 
ments’" cards were displayed in the old-fashioned bay 
windows. No. 41 was half-way up the street on the 
right-hand side, and was distinguished from its fel- 
lows by a magnolia in the centre of the grass-plot, 
and two parallel close-clipped ivy screens which had 
been trained to grow in panel fashion on both sides of 
the front door. 

Crewe walked up the gravel path and rang the 
bell. After a considerable pause, he rang again. His 
second ring brought a grim-faced servant to the door, 
who, when he asked if her mistress was in, opened 
the door and invited him to enter. She took him 
into a small sitting-room, and vanished with a gruff 
intimation that she would tell Mrs. Penfield. 

Five minutes elapsed before a woman entered the 
room noiselessly and stood before him. She was 
a woman of attractive appearance, about thirty, with 
clear grey eyes and well kept brown hair, and her 
122 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 123 

graceful and ladylike demeanour suggested that she 
was of superior class to the type of womanhood usu- 
ally associated with seaside apartment houses. 

“I understand that you are looking for apartments 
she said in a pleasant voice. 

‘'No/' said Crewe. ‘T came to see Mr. Brett." 

“He is not in," was the reply. Her smile had gone 
and her voice had lost its ingratiating tone. She 
looked at Crewe steadily. 

“When do you expect him in?" 

“He is away." 

“When do you expect him back?" 

“I cannot say definitely when he will be back." 

“Do you expect him in the course of the next few 
days ?" 

“He may come any time." Her suspicions were 
fully aroused, and with the object of dismissing him 
and also extracting some information from him she 
said, “And who shall I tell him called?" 

Crewe handed her a card and watched her as she 
read the name. 

“Mr. Crewe!" she exclaimed with a note of sur- 
prise and alarm in her voice. “Not Mr. Crewe of — of 
London ?" 

“I live in London," he replied. 

“Not Mr. Crewe, the — famous detective?" 

“That is my occupation," was the modest rejoinder. 

“Oh, I am pleased to see you," was her unexpected 
exclamation She smiled as she looked him over. He 
was much younger and much better-looking than the 
Mr. Crewe of her imagination, and these things les- 
sened her fear of him. “Inspector Murchison came 
down to ^ee Mr. Brett on Saturday last, but he had 


124 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

gone away two days before,” she said. promised 
the inspector I would send him word when Mr. Brett 
returned.” She seemed to have changed completely 
since learning Crewe’s name, and to be anxious to 
supply information. 

“I have seen Inspector Murchison,” he said. 

‘'If I knew Mr. Brett’s present address I would 
telegraph to him,” she continued. ‘T don’t think he 
can have heard of the murder of poor Mr. Lumsden, 
or he would have come back at once.” 

"I have no doubt of that,” said Crewe. 

"As of course you know, from the inspector, Mr. 
Brett is engaged from time to time on very important 
business of a confidential na^ture for the Government. 
He has often been away for three weeks at a time 
without sending me as much as a postcard.” 

"On what day did he go away?” asked Crewe. 

"On Thursday last — Thursday morning. It was on 
Friday night that Mr. Lumsden was killed, was it 
not?” 

"It was on Friday night that his body was dis- 
covered,” said Crewe. 

"A dreadful crime,” she continued. 

"Did Mr. Brett leave by train?” he asked. 

"Yes — that is, as far as I know. Oh, of course 
he must have gone by train. He only took a light suit- 
case with him, so I do not expect he will be away 
very long.” 

There was a pause during which she did some 
earnest thinking. 

"Perhaps you would like to look at Mr. Brett’s 
rooms ?” 

"If it is not too much trouble.” He was suspicious 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 125 

of the change in her attitude after learning his name. 

She led the way upstairs and opened a door on the 
first landing. 

“This is his sitting-room/’ she said. 

It was a large, comfortably furnished room, with 
a window looking onto the front garden. Crewe’s 
keen eye took in the details of the interior. The man- 
ner in which the room had been left suggested that 
its owner intended to return. Several pipes and a box 
of cigars, nearly full, stood on a table near the fire- 
place. Beside them was a folded newspaper, and on 
top of it was a novel. 

An arm-chair was drawn up close to the fire-place, 
and beside it was a pair of slippers. Near the window 
was another table, on which there was an open writ- 
ing-desk containing notepaper, envelopes and pens. 
The room looked neat and tidy, as if for an occupant 
of regular habits who liked his comfort to be studied. 
It was this impression which gave Crewe the clue to 
the landlady’s invitation to inspect the apartments. If 
Brett had anything to hide he could depend on the 
loyal support of Mrs. Penfield. 

Among the photographs which decorated the room, 
the one that claimed Crewe’s attention was that which 
occupied the place of honour in the centre of the 
mantelpiece. It was enclosed in a silver frame. He 
took it in his hands to examine it closely, and glancing 
at Mrs. Penfield as he lifted it down he saw her give 
a slight disdainful toss of her head. 

“A very pretty girl,” said Crewe, looking critically 
at the photograph. 

“It is very flattering,” was the cold comment of his 
companion. 


126 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


“But even allowing for that” — he left the sentence 
unfinished, as if unable to find words for his admira- 
tion of the subject of the photograph. His real 
interest in the photograph was that he had recently 
seen the sitter, and was astonished to find that she 
had some connection with Brett. “Do you know 
her?” 

“I have seen her. She came here several times to 
see Mr. Brett. She came to-day about an hour ago.” 

“She didn’t know that Mr. Brett had gone away?” 

It occurred to Mrs. Penfield that she had made a 
mistake in volunteering this information — a mistake 
due to the feminine desire to convey the impression 
that the subject of the photograph was in the habit 
of running after Mr. Brett. 

“She wanted to know when he would be back,” she 
answered hastily. 

“What is her name ?” asked Crewe. 

“Miss Maynard.” 

“Is she Mr. Brett’s fiancee?” 

“I have heard some people say that they are en- 
gaged, but I never heard Mr. Brett say so. At any 
rate, she doesn’t wear an engagement ring.” 

“That seems to settle it,” said Crewe, who knew 
the value of sympathy in a jealous nature. “And this 
photograph, I presume, is one of Mr. Brett,” he added, 
pointing to a photograph of a young man which stood 
at the other end of the mantelpiece. 

Mrs. Penfield nodded without speaking. 

“Would you like to look at Mr. Brett’s bedroom?” 
she asked after a pause. 

“I may as well, now that I am here.” 

She led the way to the door of another room and 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 127 

Crewe entered it. Here, again, there were many in- 
dications that the occupant of the room did not ex- 
pect to be absent for any great length of time. It was 
smaller than the sitting-room, but it looked very cheer- 
ful and cosy. Behind the door a dressing-gown 
was hanging. 

Crewe’s rapid inspection of the room showed him 
that there was no shaving tackle visible, and that 
there were no hair-brushes or clothes-brushes on the 
dressing-table. It was to be assumed from these facts 
that Mr. Brett had taken his brushes and shaving 
things with him. As far as appearances went, his 
departure had not been hurried. 

‘‘A very nice set of rooms,” said Crewe. ‘T think 
you said you promised to let Inspector Murchison 
know when Mr. Brett returns. I shall get the in- 
spector to ring me up when he hears from you. There 
are one or two questions I should like to ask Mr. 
Brett. When he comes back, will you please tell him 
I called?” 

Crewe’s next act was to get his car and visit the 
garage kept by Gosford in High Street. Inside the 
building he saw the proprietor standing by a large 
grey motor-car in the centre of the garage, watching 
a workman in blue overalls who was doing something 
to one of the wheels. 

'‘Not much the worse,” said Crewe, nodding his 
head in the direction of the grey car, and addressing 
himself to the proprietor of the garage. 

Gosford, a short stout man, looked hard at him as 
he approached. He was clean-shaven, and his puffed- 
cut cheeks made his large face look like a ball. 

Gosford again looked at Crewe out of his little 


128 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


black eyes, but said nothing. His business caution 
acted as a curb on his natural geniality, for he had 
learnt by experience of the folly of giving informa- 
tion to strangers until he knew what business brought 
them into the garage. 

“Not much the worse for its accident, said Crewe. 
“You were not long in getting it into repair.^^ 

The proprietor’s glance wandered backwards and 
forwards from the car to his visitor. 

“As good as ever,” he said, “Do you want to buy 
it?” 

“No,” said Crewe. “I have one already.” He 
nodded in the direction of his car outside. 

“She’s a beauty,” said Gosford. “But those Bod- 
esly touring cars run into a lot of money. You paid 
a big price for her. I’ll be bound.” 

“Oh, yes. You motor-car people are never rea- 
sonable — manufacturers, garage proprietors, repairers, 
you are all alike.” 

“No, no, sir, we are very reasonable here. That 
is what I pride myself on.” 

“In that case I’ll know where to bring my repairs. 
But to-day all I want is some petrol. That is what 
I came for, but when I saw this car I thought I’d 
like to see what sort of job you had made of it. The 
last time I saw it was when it was lying in the ditch 
about six miles from here on the road to Ashlingsea.” 

“Oh, you saw her there?” said Mr. Gosford genially. 
“But there wasn’t much the matter with her, beyond 
a bent axle.” 

“I hope that is what you told the gentleman who 
left it there — Mr. ?” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 129 

“Mr. Brett,” said Mr. Gosford, coming to the relief 
of his visitor’s obvious effort to recall a name. 

“Ah, yes ; Mr. Brett,” said Crewe. “Was it Thurs- 
day or Friday that I met him on the Ashlingsea road 
in this car?” 

“Friday, sir. This car wasn’t out on Thursday. 
Friday was the night of the big storm. She was out 
in it all night. I didn’t know where she was until 
Mr. Brett rang me up on Saturday morning.” 

“So he was in Staveley on Saturday morning?” 

“No, no, sir. He said he was speaking from 
Lewes. He must have caught an early train out from 
Staveley or Ashlingsea before we were open. That 
is why he didn’t ring up before.” 

Crewe, on leaving the garage, drove through the 
western outskirts of the town, and kept on till he 
passed the sand dunes, and the cliff road stretched 
to Ashlingsea like a strip of white ribbon between the 
green downs and grey sea. About a mile«past the 
sand dunes he saw a small stone cottage with a 
thatched roof, standing back on the downs about fifty 
yards from the road. 

Crewe stopped his car, and walked up the slope to 
the little cottage. The gate was open, and he walked 
through the tiny garden, which was crowded with 
sweet-scented wallflowers and late roses, and knocked 
at the door. 

His knock brought a woman to the door — an infirm 
and bent old woman, with scattered grey locks falling 
over her^ withered face. She peered up at him with 
rheumy eyes. 

Crewe looked at the old woman in some doubt 
whether she was not past answering any questions. 


130 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

Before he could put the point to the proof she solved 
it for him by turning her head and crying in a shrill 
cracked voice: 

'‘Harry, lad, come here and see to the gentleman.” 

A man approached from the back in reply to the 
call. He was short and stout, and his perspiring face 
and bare arms showed that he had been hard at 
work. He looked at Crewe, made a movement of his 
knuckle towards his forehead, and waited for him to 
speak. 

‘T am trying to get in touch with a friend of mine 
who I believe motored along this road on Friday last,” 
said Crewe. "It was on Friday night that we had 
the big storm. He must have driven along here on 
Friday afternoon; he was driving a big grey car. 
Did you see him?” 

"Friday afternoon?” the man repeated. "Fm just 
trying to get my bearings a bit. Yes, Friday was the 
night we had the storm, and Friday was the day I seen 
this gentleman Fm thinking of.” 

"In a grey car?” suggested Crewe. 

"In a grey car, as you say, sir. There ain’t so 
many cars pass along this road this time of year.” 

"Then you saw a grey car go past in the direction 
of Ashlingsea on Friday afternoon?” said Crewe. He 
put a hand in his trousers pocket and jingled the silver 
there. 

"I did,” exclaimed the other, with the positiveness 
of a man who had awakened to the fact that he pos- 
sessed valuable information for which he was to be 
paid. "I was standing here at this very door after sell- 
ing two bushels of apples to Mr. Hope, and was just 
thinking about going back to dig some more taters. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 131 

when I happened to hear a motor-car coming along. It 
was the grey car, sure enough, sir. No doubt about 
that.” 

'‘And was there anyone with my friend — or was he ' 
alone in the car?” 

This was a puzzling question, because it contained 
no indication of the answer wanted. 

'T can’t say I noticed anybody at the time, cos I 
was thinking more about my taters — it’s a bit late to 
be getting up taters, as you know, sir. I’d left ’em 
over late through having so much thatching to do, 
there being so few about as can thatch now that the 
war is on, and not many at the best o’ times — thatch- 
ing being a job as takes time to learn. My father 
he was best thatcher they ever did have hereabouts, 
and it was him taught me.” 

“And there was no one but my friend in the car?” 

“I couldn’t say that I did see any one, my mind 
being more on taters, but, mind you, sir, there might 
have been. Your friend he went past so quickly I 
didn’t rightly see into the car — not from here. It ain’t 
reasonable to expect it, is it, sir?” 

“No, of course not,” said Crewe. “I’m very much 
obliged to you.” He produced half a crown and 
handed it to the man. 

“Thank you, sir.” The unexpected amount of his 
reward had a stimulating effect. “I’ll tell you a strange 
thing about your friend, sir, now that I’ve had time 
to think about it. I hadn’t dug moren a row, or perhaps 
a row and a half of my taters, when I seen him coming 
back again.” 

“Coming back again?” exclaimed Crewe. “Surely 
not.” 


132 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

'‘Yes, sir; the same grey car/' 

"Driving back in the direction of Staveley?'* 

"Driving back along the road he’d come.” 

"And this v^ould be less than an hour after you saw 
him pass the first time?” 

"Not more’n half-hour. I reckon it don’t take me 
full twenty minutes to dig a row o’ taters.” 

"But the grey car I mean didn’t go back past here 
to Staveley.” said Crewe. "It was wrecked on Fri- 
day night about four miles from here in the direction 
of Ashlingsea.” 

"That’s right,” exclaimed the man, with childish 
delight. “Didn’t I see it go past here noon Saturday — 
another car drawing it because it wouldn’t work. I 
said to myself, something’s gone wrong with it.” 

"But, according to your story," it was driven back 
to Staveley that afternoon. The car you saw going 
back to Staveley could not have been the car that was 
wrecked on Friday, unless the driver turned round 
again and went back towards Ashlingsea — ^but that 
seems impossible.” 

"That’s what he did, sir. That’s what I was going 
to tell you, only I hadn’t come to it. What I said 
was, I hadn’t dug moren a row and half of taters after 
dinner afore I see this car coming back Staveley way, 
and when I’d got to end of second row I happened 
to look up the road and there was this car coming back 
again. I didn’t know what to think — that is, at first. I 
stood there with the fork in my hand thinking and 
thinking and saying to myself I’d not give it up — I’m a 
rare one, sir, when I make up my mind. I don’t won- 
der it’s puzzled you, sir, just as it puzzled me. What 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 133 


has he been driving up and down for — backwards 
and forwards? That’s how it puzzled me. Then it 
came to me quite sudden like — he’d lost something and 
had drove back along the road until he found it.” 


CHAPTER XII 


It was not Elsie Maynard’s first visit to London, 
but her visits had been so few that London had pre- 
sented itself to her as a vast labyrinth of streets, shops 
and houses. The prevailing impression of all pre- 
vious visits was tb»t, since it was a simple matter to 
get lost involuntarily in the labyrinth, it would be 
a simple matter for any one to disappear voluntarily 
and remain hidden from search. But on this occasion, 
when there was need for secrecy as to her visit and 
its object, she fancied the vast city to be full of prying 
eyes. 

It seemed improbable that among the thousands of 
people she met in the streets there would not be some 
one who knew her. There might be some one watch- 
ing her — some one who had received a telephone mes- 
sage regarding her journey by train from Ashlingsea. 
To disappear from some one who was watching her 
seemed to be impossible, for among the throng of 
people it was impossible to single out the watcher. 

From Victoria Station she took a tube ticket to 
Earl’s Court, so as to give the impression to any one 
who was following her that her destination was in the 
west of London. She inspected closely all the people 
who followed her into the carriage. She alighted at 
South Kensington and changed to the Piccadilly ' 
tube. She got out at Holborn and then took a 

134 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 135 

b us to Aldgate. She walked along to the junction 
of Whitechapel Road and Commercial Road, where 
she took a tram. After a short journey by tram along 
Commercial Road she got out and walked along the 
south side of the street, keeping a look out for the 
names of the side streets. 

When she reached Quilter Street she turned down 
it, and eventually stopped at the door of No. 23. It 
was a short street with a monotonous row of houses 
on each side. At one side of the corner where it 
joined Commercial Road was a steam laundry, and 
at the other side a grocer’s which was also a post office. 
The faded wrappings of the tinned goods which had 
been displayed for many months in the windows were 
indicative of the comparative poverty of the locality. 
In the ground-floor windows of most of the houses 
were cardboard notices showing that tailoring was the 
craft by which the inhabitants earned their bread. It 
was here that a great deal of the work sent out by 
tailors’ shops in the City was done, and the placards 
in the windows proclaimed a desire for work from 
chance customers whose clothes needed repairs and 
pressing. 

There were dirty ragged children playing in the 
gutters, and dirty slatternly women, with black 
shawls over their heads and shoulders and jugs in 
their hands, were to be seen hurrying along the pave- 
ment for milk and beer. Although Miss Maynard 
had taken care not to dress herself elaborately for 
her journey to London, she was aware that her ap- 
pearance before the door of No. 23 was attracting some 
attention among the women standing at their doors 
and gossiping across area railings. When the door 


136 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

was opened by a girl in her early teens who had her 
sleeves rolled up and was wearing a piece of sacking 
as an apron, Miss Maynard entered hurriedly and 
closed the door after her. 

‘‘Does Mr. Miller live here?’’ she asked. 

“Yes,” replied the girl. 

“Is he in now?” 

“Yes, he told me was expecting a lady to call. Are 
you her?” 

“Yes.” 

“First floor — front,” said the girl, jerking a dirty 
thumb in the direction of the stairs as an indication 
to her visitor that she could find her way up unaided. 

But before she had reached the top of the stairs 
the door of the front room on the first floor was 
opened, and the man she had come to see appeared 
on the stairs to welcome her. He clasped her hands 
eagerly and led her to his room, closing the door 
carefully behind him. For a moment he hesitated 
and then placed his arms round her. Her head fell 
back on his shoulder and he pressed his lips to hers 
in a long lingering kiss. 

Arnold Brett was a young man of spare build whose 
military training had taught him to keep his shoulders 
well back. He had a slight black moustache, and his 
hair, which was carefully brushed down on his head, 
was raven black in colour. His aquiline nose seemed 
to emphasize the sharpness of his features ; the glance 
from his dark eyes was restless and crafty. 

“Darling, I knew you would come,” he said. He 
released her, but only for the purpose of taking her 
again in his arms and kissing her. 

“But why are you here ?” she asked, giving a glance 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 137 

at the impoverished furniture — the narrow bed with 
its faded counterpane, the cheap chest of drawers, 
the dressing-table with a cracked mirror, the dirty 
window curtains and the single wooden chair. 

“Before God, I swear I had nothing to do with it, 
Elsie,’’ he exclaimed pas^sionately. 

It was a relief to he^r him declare his innocence. 
Even if he had spoken without emphasis she would 
not have doubted his word. It was because her belief 
in his innocence deepened the mystery of his reason 
for hiding that she repeated: 

“But why are you here?” 

“Do you believe me?” he asked. Between lovers 
faith counts for much more than reason. 

“Of course I do.” 

“I knew you would,” he said. “It is because I 
know you were true that I asked you to come. I am 
beginning to think that perhaps I made a great mis- 
take in running away. But I was unnerved by the 
accident. I was thrown out of the car and I must 
have been unconscious in the road for more than an 
hour. And, recalling how poor Frank had met his 
death, it seemed to me that there was a diabolical 
scheme on foot to murder me as well. Perhaps I 
was wrong. Tell me everything. Do the police sus- 
pect me? Have they a warrant out for me? Did 
you go to the farm that night? I have sent out for a 
newspaper each day, but the London newspapers have 
said very little about the murder. All I have seen is 
a couple of small paragraphs.” 

She was more immediately concerned in the dis- 
covery that he had been thrown out of a motor-car 
and injured than in his thirst for information about 


138 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

the murder at Cliff Farm. She was solicitous as to 
the extent of the injury he had suffered, the length 
of time he had been unconscious, and his movements 
after he came to his senses on the lonely road. Not 
only were her feminine sympathies stirred by the 
thought of the sufferings of the man she loved, but 
by the fear that the accident must have affected his 
mind temporarily and prompted him to hide himself. 

He was too impatient for her news to spare time 
for more than a vague disconnected account of the 
accident. He assured her that he was all right again, 
except for a cut on the head which he showed her. 
It was on her news more than on anything else that 
the question of his return to Staveley depended. 

She told him in response to his questions that the 
murder had created a sensation. Every one was talk- 
ing about it. The Staveley Courier had published a 
two column account of the tragedy with details about 
the victim and the eccentricities of his grandfather in 
later years. Stress was laid, in the newspaper account 
of the story, on the rumour that old Joseph Lumsden 
had buried his money after the war broke out, and 
on the disappointment of the legatees whose legacies 
could not be paid at his death because the money 
could not be found. The police, it was stated, had 
questioned these legatees as to their movements on 
the night of the murder. The theory of the police 
seemed to be that the murder had been committed by 
some one who had heard about the buried money and 
believed it was hidden in the house, or thought the 
victim had known where it was hidden. 

She told him that Scotland Yard had sent down a 
detective to investigate the crime, and that Mr. Crewe, 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 139 

the famous private detective, was also working on it. 

^‘Crewe he exclaimed in dismay. “Who has 
brought him into it?’’ 

“He happened to be staying at Staveley with Sir 
George Granville on the night of the murder, and 
when Mr. Marsland rang up his uncle. Sir George 
Granville, from the Ashlingsea police station to say 
he was all right, and to tell Sir George about the 
murder, Mr Crewe was naturally interested in it. 
He took up the case on his own initiative because his 
host’s nephew discovered the body.” 

“I can’t follow you,” he said. “Who is Mr. Mars- 
land?” He started back with a look of terror in his 
eyes. “My God, you don’t mean Captain Mars- 
land? That is who it is; that is who it is! I knew 
I was right.” 

“Arnold, what is the matter ?” she exclaimed, raising 
to her feet and putting a hand on his shoulder. “You 
look dreadful.” 

“Captain Marsland,” he muttered. “Captain Mars- 
land come to life again.” He raised his clenched hand 
and shook it slowly as if to give impressive emphasis 
to his words. “That is the man who shot poor Frank. 
I knew I was right.” 

“Impossible.” 

He turned on her fiercely. 

“Impossible,” he echoed. “Who are you to say 
it is impossible? What do you know about it or 
about him ? Perhaps you are in love with him ?” 

“Don’t be foolish, Arnold,” she said sternly. “The 
Mr. Marsland I am speaking of is not a captain — at 
least, he does not wear uniform, and I have not heard 
any one call him ‘captain/ At any rate, it is impos- 


140 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

sible for him to have killed Frank Lumsden. I was 
at the farm before he was, and poor Frank’s dead 
body was upstairs all the time I was there, though 
I did not know it.” 

“All the time you were there? When did you get 
there ?” 

“About six o’clock — just as the storm came on.” 

“Six o’clock? And was there no one at the house 
when you got there?” 

“No one.” 

“You saw no trace of anyone having been there?” 

“No. I found the key of the door in the lock and 
naturally I thought that Frank had left it there — that 
you and he were inside. You remember that you told 
me to be there about six o’clock, and that you and 
Frank would be there before then.” 

“Yes. That was the arrangement, but — well, never 
mind that, Elsie, now; tell me your story.” 

“I opened the door and walked in,” she said. “I 
called out Ts there anybody in ?’ but I got no answer. 
I thought then that you and Frank were in one of the 
sheds, and I sat down in the sitting-room, expecting 
you would be back in a moment. I took the key out 
of the door so as to make you knock in order to get 
in. The rain was just commencing then, but it had 
been blowing hard for half an hour. About ten 
minutes after I had been in the sitting-room there 
was a knock at the front door. Naturally I thought 
it was you. I rushed to open it and as I flung it 
back I asked what had kept you so long. But the 
man on the door step was a stranger — this Mr. Mars- 
land.” 

“What is he like?” asked Brett quickly. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 141 

'‘He is rather good-looking ; fair-haired and fair- 
skinned and blue-eyed — the Saxon type. He is about 
medium height— not quite so tall as you.” 

“How old is he?” 

“Quite young — about 26 or 27, I should say.” 

“Does he wear glasses — gold-rimmed eyeglasses?” 

“He was not wearing them then, but he does wear 
them as a rule. I think he told me subsequently that 
he had lost a pair while he was riding along — blown 
off by the wind.” 

“What explanation did he give of his visit?” 

“He had been riding across the downs from Staveley 
and had lost his way in the storm. His horse was 
lame and when he saw the house he decided to seek 
shelter.” 

“Did you believe him?” 

“Of course I did — then.” 

“Do you believe him now?” 

“I don’t know, Arnold, after what you have said. 
He may have been there before I was — it may have 
been he who left the key in the door.” 

“I am sure of it.” , 

“He came in and sat down — he certainly acted as 
if he had never been in the house before. I do not 
know how long we were in the sitting-room — perhaps 
twenty minutes. We did not talk very much. I was 
busy trying to think what had become of you and 
Frank. I thought it best to tell him as little as possible, 
so I made up a story that I had found the door open 
and had walked in with the intention of taking shelter 
until the storm was over. I said nothing about the 
key. I began to get a little nervous as we sat there 
listening to the storm. I was upset about you,” 


142 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

“Go on,” he said impatiently, as she paused. 

“Presently we heard a crash upstairs — it was like 
breaking glass or china. Mr. Marsland said he would 
go upstairs and see what it was. I determined to go 
with him, as I was too frightened by that time to stay 
alone. On one of the stairs he picked up Grandfather 
Lumsden’s cryptogram. I felt then that Frank had 
been there, and that something dreadful had happened. 
We went upstairs, and there we found Frank’s dead 
body in the arm-chair. I thought at first that he had 
been taken ill after you and he got there that after- 
noon, and that he had died alone while you were away 
trying to get a doctor. But Mr. Marsland said he had 
been shot. Poor Frank ! What a dreadful end.” 

“What time did you leave ?” 

“We left almost at once. That would be about a 
quarter to seven. He went to Ashlingsea police sta- 
tion to report the discovery of the body. I asked him 
not to drag me into it — not to tell the police that I 
had been at the farm. I thought that was the best 
thing to do until I saw you — until I found where you 
had been.” 

“Quite right, Elsie — everything you do is right, my 
dear girl. And while you and this Marsland were at 
the farm I was just recovering consciousness on the 
Staveley road after a bad smash. It was after five 
o’clock before I left Staveley; I had told Frank I 
would leave about three o’clock, but I was delayed by 
several things. He told me he would come along the 
road to meet me. I was driving along the road fairly 
fast in order to reach the farm before the storm broke, 
and I must have been dazed by a flash of lightning. 
The next thing I remember was being awakened by the 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 143 

rain falling on my face as I lay unconscious beside 
the car, which had been overturned.’^ 

‘‘Were you badly hurt, dear?” 

“I was badly shaken and bruised, but the only cut 
was the one on my head. I didn’t know what to do 
at first. I thought I would walk back to Staveley 
and tell them at the garage about the car. But finally 
I decided to go on to the Cliff Farm, as it was so much 
nearer than Staveley, and then go to Staveley by train 
in the morning. It must have been nearly eight o’clock 
when I reached the farm and found the front door 
open.” 

“We locked it,” she interposed. “That is, Mr. Mars- 
land did: he told me that he was sure he heard the 
lock click.” 

“It was open when I got there — wide open,” he 
persisted. 

“Then Mr. Marsland was right. The murderer was 
in the house while we were there. The crash we heard 
was made by him, and after we went away he bolted 
and left the hall door open.” 

“The murderer was in the house while you were 
there,” he said. “There is nothing more certain than 
that. The murderer was Captain Marsland.” 

“I can’t believe it,” she said. 

“Wasn’t it he who put the idea into your head, 
after you had left the house, that the murderer might 
have been upstairs all the time ?” 

“Yes, it was.” 

“And he told you that he had slammed the hall door 
when he left? You didn’t see him close it?” 

“No, I was waiting for him down the path. After 


144 the mystery OF THE DOWNS 

seeing poor Frank I felt too frightened to stay in 
the house.” 

*'Marsland left the door open, but told you he had 
closed it, his object being to give the police the impres- 
sion that it had been left open by some one who left 
the house after he did. But I closed it when I left — 
I distinctly remember doing so.” 

“What makes you suspect Marsland? He had no 
grudge against Frank. Why should he kill him?” 

“If Marsland didn^t kill him, who did?” 

“Any one may have done so. A tramp, for instance, 
who had broken into the house and was there when 
Frank came home.” 

“Do tramps in this country carry revolvers?” 

“Not usually. But since the war many of the men 
discharged from the army do.” 

“There you’ve said it. Many of the officers who 
have been discharged carry revolvers, but not the 
men. They have got used to doing it. At the front 
only officers carry revolvers. And Marsland is an 
officer — a captain. He was a captain in the London 
Rifle Brigade, in the battalion to which Frank and 
I belonged.” 

“Oh!” There was a note of dismay in the ex- 
clamation of surprise. “Does he know you, Arnold?” 

“I was not one of his company, but of course he 
knows me.” 

“Did he know Frank? Do you think he knew Frank 
when he saw his dead body in the room?” 

“Of course he knew Frank. Frank was in his Com- 
pany.” 

“He did not say anything to me about this as we 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 145 

walked home/’ said Elsie thoughtfully. “And perhaps 
he has not told the police. It is very strange.” 

“There is nothing strange about it. He had good 
reasons for saying nothing.” 

“You think he shot Frank? Why should he com- 
mit such a crime?” 

“My dear Elsie, strange things happen in war. 
Frank told me something about Captain Marsland, 
and as soon as you mentioned his name it all came 
back to me. But we thought he was dead. Frank told 
me he was killed at the front — a stray bullet or some- 
thing.” 

“What was it that Frank told you about him? I 
must know.” 

“Marsland sent a man to certain death to get him 
out of the way. One night he sent Frank and another 
man — Collingwood, I think Frank said his name was 
— as a listening patrol. They had to crawl up near 
the German trenches and, lying down with their ears 
to the ground, listen for sounds in the German 
trenches which might indicate that the Germans were 
getting ready to make an attack. While they were 
out this fellow Collingwood told Frank his history. 
Collingwood had a sort of premonition that he would 
not get back alive, and he took Frank into his con- 
fidence. He said he knew that Marsland had sent 
him out in the hope that the Germans would get him. 
It appears that Collingwood and Marsland were both 
in love with the same girl, and she preferred Colling- 
wood, though her parents didn’t approve of him. Col- 
lingwood was a gentleman, like a great many more of 
the rankers in Kitchener’s Army. He gave Frank 
a letter to this girl, and her photograph, and asked 


146 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


Frank to see that she got them if he himself was 
killed. And killed he was that night — through the 
treachery of Marsland. While they were listening 
they heard the Germans getting ready for an attack. 
They crept back to warn their comrades, but there 
was no one to warn. The trench had been evacuated. 
When Marsland sent Frank and Collingwood out as 
a listening patrol he had an order in his pocket to 
vacate the trench, as it had been decided to fall back 
half a mile to a better position. He thought he was 
sending Collingwood and Frank to their death. Col- 
lingwood was killed. The Germans attacked before 
he and Frank could get away, but Frank, as you know, 
was taken prisoner. I was taken prisoner the same 
day, but at a different sector about a mile away. Sub- 
sequently Frank and I met as prisoners — and after 
being tortured by the Germans we got away.” 

‘‘And did Frank deliver Collingwood’s letter to the 
girl?” 

“No, that is the sad part of it. The Germans took 
all his papers from him and he never saw them again. 
He did not know the address of the girl or even 
her name.” 

“It was a dreadful thing for Captain Marsland to 
do,” she murmured. 

“A great many dreadful things have been done out 
there,” he said. “I’ll tell you my idea of how this 
murder was committed. Marsland thought Frank had 
been killed by the Germans. After riding across the 
downs beyond Staveley he met Frank, who was walk- 
ing along the road to meet me. He stopped Frank 
and pretended to be very friendly to him. They talked 
over old times at the front, Marsland being anxious 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 147 

to know how Collingwood had died and whether 
Collingwood had any idea that he had been sent to 
his death. As there was no sign of my car, Frank 
turned back with Marsland to the farm. While they 
were in the house Frank let slip the fact that Colling- 
wood had confided in him before he died. Perhaps 
Marsland became aware of it through an effort on 
Frank’s part to get from him the name of the girl to 
whom Collingwood had been practically engaged. 

^^No doubt there were angry words between them; 
and Marsland, in order to save himself from being 
exposed by Frank to the regimental authorities, and 
to the girl, shot him dead. That would be a few 
minutes before you reached the farm. When you 
reached the house Marsland had gone outside to re- 
move traces of the' crime — perhaps to burn something 
or to wash blood-stains from his hands or clothing 
at the pump. He left the key in the door so that he 
could enter the house again. When he found the 
key gone he was confused : he was not certain whether 
he had placed the key in the lock. He did not believe 
that any one had entered the house, but to make sure 
on that point he knocked. He was surprised when 
you opened the door, but he played his part so well 
that you did not suspect he had been in the house 
before. As you had not discovered the body, he 
thought it best that you and he should discover it 
together. That would be less suspicious, as far as 
he was concerned, than for you to go away without 
discovering it. Had you betrayed any suspicion that 
you thought he was the murderer he would have shot 
you too, and then made off.” 

“But his horse was there,” she said. “It was quite 


148 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

lame. He could not have ridden away on it; and to 
leave it behind was to leave the police a convincing 
clue that he had been to Cliff Farm.’' 

‘T was forgetting about his horse,” said Brett. 
'Tt was the fact that his horse was there which made 
him knock after he saw the key had been taken from 
the door. He had to brazen it out.” 

*'The police have no suspicion of him, so far as I 
can ascertain,” said the girl. 

‘‘We must direct their attention to him,” was the reply. 

“Will you come back to Staveley and tell Inspector 
Murchison ?” 

“No, that would be injudicious. My instinct was 
right in telling me to get out of sight when I saw 
Frank’s dead body. It was after you left the house 
with Marsland that I got there. The door was open 
as I said — Marsland left it open purposely, and told 
you a lie about closing it. I went upstairs, as I 
couldn’t see Frank about below, and when I saw him 
dead I felt immediately that his murder was but the 
continuation of some black deed in France. I knew 
instinctively that if I didn’t disappear I should be the 
next victim. And so I should be if Marsland knew 
how much I know about him. The man is a cold- 
blooded villain, who thinks nothing of taking human 
life. If I went back to Staveley and accused him, he 
would take steps to put me out of the way. We must 
get him arrested for the murder, and when he is 
under lock and key I’ll come back to Staveley and 
tell the police all I know about him.” 

J‘But how can we get the police to arrest him unless 
you first tell them all you know ?” she asked. 

“We must find a way,” he said thoughtfully. 


CHAPTER XIII 


Crewe engaged a room in Whitethorn Gardens in 
order to watch Mrs. Penfield’s movements, and took 
up his post of observation immediately. As he did not 
want Mrs. Penfield to know he was watching her 
house, he had chosen an attic bedroom on the opposite 
side and some distance higher up the steep street — 
an elevated vantage point, which not only commanded 
a view of all the houses in the street but of a great 
portion of Staveley and the surrounding country-side 
as well. From this eyrie the detective could see the 
front, the downs, and the distant cliff road to Ashling- 
sea; but the residence of Brett’s landlady engrossed 
his attention. 

There was very little sign of life in the street. One 
or two old ladies walked primly in the front gardens 
before dusk, but went inside as soon as the evening 
sea-mist began to rise. Sedate maidservants lit the 
gas and lowered blinds, and the street was left to 
darkness till a lamplighter came and lit a street-lamp 
which stood near No. 41. Crewe observed that the 
front rooms of No. 41 remained black and unlighted: 
apparently Mrs. Penfield lived in the back of the house 
and took her meals there. 

As darkness was falling, Mrs. Penfield’s elderly 
servant came from the back of the house, carrying a 
large basket. She went out of the front gate, turned 
up the street, and disappeared round the corner. 
149 


150 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

About half an hour later Crewe heard the front gate 
click, and saw Mrs. Penfield appear. Her face was 
plainly visible by the street light as she glanced anx- 
iously up and down the street several times, as though 
she feared she was watched. Then she turned down 
the street and walked quickly away. 

Crewe ran downstairs, let himself noiselessly out of 
the front door and followed quickly in her wake. As 
he neared the bottom of the street, he saw her a 
little distance in front of him. When she reached 
the end of Whitethorn Gardens she turned to the 
right along the sea front. 

The night was mild, and a few drops of rain were 
falling. The front seemed deserted, and was shrouded 
in a mist which reduced the lamplights to a yellow 
glimmer. It was an easy matter for Crewe to follow 
closely behind the woman, conscious that the mist 
would shield him from observation if she turned. 

Mrs. Penfield walked rapidly along the front till 
she came to High Street. Half-way along the front 
the mist seemed suddenly to grow thicker and Crewe 
crept closer in order to keep her in view. She walked 
swiftly with her head down, looking neither to the 
right nor the left. She passed under the faint light 
of a street lamp, and as Crewe came up behind he 
saw a uniformed figure in front of him. It was Police 
Constable Heather who had come over from Ashling- 
sea on official business. Heather was so pleased at 
this unexpected meeting with the great London de- 
tective that he called out in a loud voice: 

“Good night, Mr. Crewe.” 

Crewe answered softly and passed on. He could 
only hope that Mrs. Penfield was so absorbed in her 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 151 

own thoughts that she had not heard Constable 
Heather’s stentorian utterance of his name. Suddenly 
he heard her footsteps cease and he, too, came to a 
stop. Then he saw her confronting him. 

'‘Why are you following me, Mr. Crewe ?” she asked 
in quick excited tones. 'Tt was you who telephoned 
to me to come up and see Inspector Murchison. I 
should have known it was a hoax. You wanted to 
get me out of the house.” 

'Tf I wanted to get you out of the house, Mrs. Pen- 
field, why should I follow you ?” asked Crewe. 

"But you were following me,” she persisted. 

"It is not the sort of night I would choose for such 
work,” he replied. 

"When I heard that this man call out your name, I 
knew I had been hoaxed.” 

"By whom ?” asked Crewe, who was puzzled at this 
example of feminine reasoning. 

"I shall go back and see,” she said. "I will ring 
up Inspector Murchison from there and find out if he 
sent a message to me to go up to the police station.” 

Crewe was keenly interested in knowing if she had 
been hoaxed, and by whom. Therefore he offered to 
accompany her home, as it was not a nice night for 
a lady to be in the street unattended. 

When they reached 41 Whitethorn Gardens, she 
opened the gate, and walked up to the house rapidly. 
At the porch she stopped, touched Crewe lightly on 
the arm, and pointed to the front door. In the dim 
light a patch of blackness showed ; the door was open. 

"Come with me,” she whispered, "and we will take 
him by surprise. Don’t strike a match ; give me yqur 
hmd” 


152 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

She walked noiselessly along the dark hall, and turn- 
ing into a passage some distance down it led the way 
through an open doorway into a room — a small and 
stuffy storeroom, Crewe imagined it to be, as the air 
was suggestive of cheese and preserves. 

'‘Go, Arnold, the police are here ! Go at once !’’ 

The words rang shrilly through the house. Crewe 
realized that he had been tricked by the woman and 
he sprang forward to the door. But the click of a 
lock told him he was too late. He struck a match and 
its light revealed to him Mrs. Penfield standing with 
her back against the door she had closed. 

“There is a candle on the shelf behind you/’ she 
said composedly. 

Crewe’s glance followed the turn of her head; he 
lit the candle with his expiring match. The candle 
flickered, then burnt brightly, and the detective saw 
that he was in a small storeroom with shelves lining 
the walls. He turned again to Mrs. Penfield who was 
watching him closely. 

.“Why did you alarm him?” he asked. “You think 
it was Brett?” 

Although his tone was one of curiosity rather than 
anger, the woman threw her arms out at full length 
as though she feared he would attempt to drag her 
away from the door. 

“Do not be afraid,” said Crewe. “You have noth- 
ing to fear from me. And, as for him, it is too late 
to pursue him.” 

“I must give him ample time to make his escape,” 
she said. “You will go and tell the police he was 
here.” 

“What makes you think it was Brett?” asked 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 153 

Crewe. “If he came back this way — if he hoaxed you 
with a telephone message in order to get you out 
of the house — he has shown a lamentable want of trust 
in you.’" 

“He knows he can trust me/’ she said confidently. 
“He can never doubt it after to-night.” 

“I cannot conceive why he should take the great 
risk of coming back/’ he said meditatively. 

“That means you would like to go up to his rooms 
and find out what he came for. But I forbid you. 
If you attempt to go upstairs, I will rouse the neigh- 
bourhood with the cry that there are burglars in the 
house.” 

“I think you have more reason to be afraid of the 
police than I,” said Crewe. “However, I am in your 
hands. As far as I am concerned, you can have full 
credit for having saved him to-night.” 

She showed her faith in this assurance by unlocking 
the door. Taking the candle from the shelf, she led 
the way along the passage and the hall again. She 
opened the front door, and held the candle higher to 
light him out. She stood in the open doorway till 
Crewe reached the garden gate. 

He walked back along the front. The mist was 
still rising from the sea in great white billows, which 
rolled across the beach and shrouded everything in an 
impenetrable veil. It penetrated unpleasantly into the 
eyes and throat, and Crewe was glad when he turned 
off the deserted parade and reached Sir George Gran- 
ville’s house. 

The servant who admitted him told him the family 
were in the drawing-room, and thither he directed his 
steps. Lady Granville was seated at the piano, playing 


154 the mystery OF THE DOWNS 

softly. Marsland in an easy chair was listlessly turn- 
ing over the pages of a bound volume of Punch. Sir 
George was in another easy chair a little distance 
away, nodding in placid slumber with his handsome 
white beard on his breast, and an extinguished cigar 
between his fingers. 

Lady Granville smiled at Crewe as he entered, and 
stopped playing. The cessation of the music awak-^ 
ened Sir George, and when he saw Crewe his eyes | 
wandered towards the chess-table. 

‘Ho you feel inclined for a game of chess he ex- 
claimed in his loud voice. ‘T want my revenge, you 
know.” 

‘T’ll be pleased to give it to you,” responded Crewe. 

“A very unpleasant night outside,” said Marsland. 

“The mist seems to be thicker up this end of the 
front,” replied Crewe. “Have you been out in it?” 

“I came in about five minutes ago. I went for a 
walk.” 

Lady Granville took a book and seated herself not 
far from the chess-table. Marsland came and stood 
near the players, watching the game. He soon got 
tired of it, however, and went back to Punch. Sir 
George was a slow player at all times, and his anxiety 
when pitted against a renowned player like Crewe 
made him slower than usual. He studied each move 
of Crewe’s in all its bearings before replying, scruti- 
nizing the board with set face, endeavouring to pene- ^ 
trate his- opponent’s intentions, and imagining subtle ^ 
traps where none existed. Meanwhile, his fingers hov- 
ered nervously above the pieces with the irresolute' 
ness of a chess-player weighed down by the heavy 
responsibility of his next move, and, finally, when the 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 155 

plunge had been taken Sir George sat back, stroking 
his long white beard doubtfully, and fixed his eyes on 
Crewe, as though mutely asking his opinion of the 
move. ‘‘Game’’ seemed an inappropriate word to ap- 
ply to chess as played by Sir George Granville. 

It was during one of these strategical pauses, after 
the game had been in progress for nearly an hour, that 
Crewe heard a frightened exclamation from Lady 
Granville. He looked up and saw Marsland standing 
near the fire-place with his hand over his heart, sway- 
ing as though about to fall. Crewe sprang forward 
and supported him to an easy chair. 

“A little brandy,” said Crewe quietly. 

Sir George hurriedly brought a decanter of brandy 
and a glass, and Crewe poured a little down Mars- 
land’s throat. The colour came slowly back to the 
young man’s cheeks, and he smiled feebly at the 
three faces looking down at him. 

“I’m afraid I’ve been giving you a lot of trouble,” 
he said, with an obvious effort to collect himself. 

“I’ll ring up for Dr. Harrison,” Sir George spoke 
in a loud voice, as though to reassure himself. 

“There is not the slightest need to send for Harri- 
son,” said Marsland. “I’m quite right again. I must 
expect these attacks occasionally for some time to 
come. They’re nothing — just weakness. All I need 
is a good night’s rest, and if you’ll excuse me I’ll 
retire now.” He got up and walked resolutely out of 
the room with square shoulders, as though to demon- 
strate to those watching him that no trace of his 
weakness remained. 

“Do you think it is safe to leave him alone?” said 
Sir George turning to Crewe, as the door closed on 


156 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

his nephew’s retreating figure. feel very anxious 
about him. Anything might happen to him during the 
night.” 

“A good night’s rest will do him more good than 
anything else. He has been under a rather severe 
nervous strain during the last few days. We will go 
to his room in a few minutes to see how he is.” 

They settled down to their game again and Lady 
Granville moved up her chair near the chess-table for 
the sake of their company and pretended to take an 
interest in the game. Only a few moves had been 
made when there was a loud report of an explosion. 
Lady Granville jumped up from her chair and 
screamed and then fell back into the chair in a faint. 

‘Hook to her,” said Crewe to his host, “while I go 
and see what’s the matter.” 

As he ran along the hall to the staircase he met two 
of the maids, who with white faces and hands clasped 
in front of them seemed too frightened to move. 

“Where was it?” asked Crewe. “Upstairs?” 

“Yes, sir, upstairs,” said one of them. 

“It came from Mr. Marsland’s room,” added the 
other, in an awed whisper. 

Crewe ran straight for Marsland’s room, expecting 
to find there some evidence of a tragedy. As he burst 
into the room he saw to his great relief that Marsland 
was there, leaning out of the window. 

“What is it?” asked Crewe. “Did you fire a re- 
volver?” 

Marsland, who was wearing a dressing-gown, came 
from the window. In his right hand he was holding 
a big revolver. 

“I missed him,” he said. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 157 

“Missed whom?” 

“A burglar.” 

“It is very early in the night for a burglar to be 
out.” 

“He took advantage of the mist. He must have 
thought that there was no one in the room. I had 
turned out the light and was resting on the bed. I 
was half asleep, but he knocked a brush off the dress- 
ing-table as he was getting through the window and 
that woke me up. I caught a good glimpse of him and 
I fired. He dropped at once, and I thought I had 
hit him, but when I looked out of the window I saw 
him disappear in the mist. What an awful pity I 
didn’t get him.” 

“How did you happen to be lying down with a 
revolver beside you?” asked Crewe. 

“I often take it to bed with me. That is the result 
of the life at the front. And to-night I had a kind 
of presentiment that I should need it.” 

It oc :urred to Crewe that the young man had been 
subject to hallucinations during his illness. This 
habit of sleeping with a revolver under his pillow 
seemed to indicate that his cure was still far from 
complete. Was the burglar a phantom of a sick 
mind? 

He went over to the window for the purpose of 
looking out but his attention was arrested by a stain 
on the outside sill. 

“You did not miss him altogether,” he said to 
Marsland. “Look here.” 

Marsland touched the stain and held a blood-stained 
finger up to the light for his own inspection. 


CHAPTER XIV 


Crewe steered to the stone landing-place and tied the 
little motor-boat to a rusty iron ring which dangled 
from a stout wooden stake, wedged between two of 
the seaweed covered stones. The tide was out, and 
the top of the landing-place stood well out of the 
water, but it was an easy matter for a young and 
vigorous man to spring up to the top, though three 
rough and slippery steps had been cut near the ring, 
perhaps for the original builder in his old and infirm 
days. 

Looking down, he noticed that while his little boat 
floated easily enough alongside, a boat of slightly 
deeper draught would have scraped on the rocky bot- 
tom, which was visible through the clear water. The 
surface of the landing-place was moist, and the inter- 
sections between the rough stones were filled with sea- 
weed and shells, indicating that the place was covered 
at high tide. 

Crewe had come from Staveley by boat instead of 
motoring across, his object being to make a complete 
investigation of Cliff Farm without attracting chance 
attention or rural curiosity about his motor-car, which 
was too big to go into the stables. He wanted to be 
undisturbed and uninterrupted in his investigation of 
the house. As he entered the boat-house, he looked 
back to where he had left his boat, and saw that the 
158 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 159 

landing-place was high enough out of the water to 
prevent passers-by on the cliff road seeing the boat 
before high tide. By that time he hoped to have com- 
pleted his investigations and be on his way back to 
Staveley. 

The boat-house was a small and rickety structure 
perched on a rough foundation of stones, which had 
been stacked to the same height as the landing-place. 
The inside was dismal and damp, and the woodwork 
was decaying. Part of the roof had fallen in, and 
the action of wind and sea and storm had partly 
destroyed the boarded sides. Many of the boards had 
parted from the joists, and hung loosely, or had fallen 
on the stones. An old boat lay on the oozing stones, 
with its name, Polly, barely decipherable on the stern, 
and a kedge anchor and rotting coil of rope inside it. 
Crewe had no doubt that it was the boat James Lums- 
den used to go fishing in many years ago. A few de- 
cayed boards in front of the boat-house indicated the 
remains of a wooden causeway for launching the boat. 
In a corner of the shed was a rusty iron windlass, 
which suggested the means whereby the eccentric old 
man had been able to house his boat without assistance 
when he returned with his catch. 

Having finished his scrutiny of the boatshed and 
its contents, Crewe made his way up the cliff path, 
and walked across the strip of downs to the farm. 

Cliff Farm looked the picture of desolation and 
loneliness in the chill, grey autumn afternoon. Its 
gaunt, closely-shuttered ugliness confronted Crewe un- 
compromisingly, as though defying him to wrest from 
it the secret of the tragic death of its owner. It 
already had that air of neglect and desertion which 


i6o THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


speedily overtakes the house which has lost its habi- 
tants. There was no sign of any kind of life ; the 
meadows were empty of live-stock. Somewhere in 
the outbuildings at the side of the house an unfastened 
door flapped and banged drearily in the wind. Even 
the front door required main strength to force it 
open after it had been unlocked, as though it shared 
with the remainder of the house the determination to 
keep the secret of the place, and resented intrusion. 
The interior of the house was dark, close and musty. 
Through the closed and shuttered windows not a ray 
of light or a breath of air had been able to find an 
entrance. 

Crewe’s first act was to open the shutters and 
the windows on the ground floor; his next to fling 
open the front and back doors, and the doors of the 
rooms. He wanted all the light he could get for the 
task before him, and some fresh air to breathe. He 
soon had both: wholesale, pure strong air from the 
downs, blowing in through doors and windows, stir- 
ring up the accumulated dust on the floors, causing 
it to float and dance in the sunbeams that streamed 
in the front windows from the rays of an evening sun, 
which had succeeded in freeing himself in his last 
moments above the horizon from the mass of grey 
clouds that had made the day so chill and cheerless. 

Crewe commenced to examine each room and its 
contents with the object of trying to discover some- 
thing which would assist him in his investigation of 
the Cliff Farm murder. He worked carefully and 
minutely, but with the swiftness and method of a 
practised observer. 

The front room that he first entered detained him 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS i6i 


only a few minutes. ‘Originally designed for the 
sitting-room, it had been dismantled and contained 
very little furniture, and had evidently not been used 
for a considerable time. A slight fissure in the out- 
side wall explained the reason: the fissure had made 
the room uninhabitable by admitting wind and 
weather, causing damp to appear on the walls, and 
loosening the wall-paper till it hung in festoons. 

Crewe next examined the opposite front room in 
which Sergeant Westaway conducted his preliminary 
inquiries into the murder. This room was simply 
furnished with furniture of an antique pattern. Ap- 
parently it had been used at a more or less recent 
date as the sitting-room, for a few old books and a 
couple of modern cheaply bound novels were lying 
about; a needle with a piece of darning cotton which 
was stuck in the wall suggested a woman’s occupation, 
or perhaps the murdered man or his grandson had done 
bachelor darning there in the winter evenings. The 
latter hypothesis seemed most probable to Crewe : only 
a very untidy member of the other sex would have 
left a darning needle sticking in the sitting-room wall. 

Crewe then examined the room behind the front 
room in which Marsland and Miss Maynard had sat 
before discovering the murdered man. It was the 
front room of an English farm-house of a bygone age, 
kept for show and state occasions but not for use, 
crowded with big horse-hair chairs and a horse-hair 
sofa. There were two tables— a large round one with 
a mahogany top and a smaller one used as a stand for 
the lamp Marsland had lit— a glass case of stuffed 
birds ; an old clock in a black case on the mantelpiece, 
which had been stopped so long that its works 


i 62 the mystery of THE DOWNS 

were festooned with spiders’ webs ; a few dingy oil- 
paintings on the walls, alternately representing scenes 
from the Scriptures and the English chase, and a moth- 
eaten carpet on the floor. There was also a small 
glass bookcase in a corner containing some bound vol- 
umes of the Leisure Hour of the sixties, Peter 
Parley's Annual, Johnson's Dictionary, an ancient 
Every Day Book, and an old family Bible with brass 
clasps. 

It was in the room next to the sitting-room that 
Crewe found the first article which suggested possi- 
bilities of a clue. It was a small room, which had evi- 
dently been used by a former occupant as an office, for 
it contained an oak case holding account books, some 
files of yellowing bills hanging from nails on the 
wall, and an old-fashioned writing bureau. It was 
this last article that attracted Crewe’s attention. It 
was unlocked, and he examined closely the papers it 
contained. But they threw no light on the mystery 
of Cliff Farm, being for the most part business letters, 
receipted bills, and household accounts. 

There was a bundle of faded letters in one of the 
pigeon-holes tied with black ribbon, which had been 
written to Mrs. James Lumsden from somebody who 
signed himself “Yours to command, Geoffrey La 
Touche.” These letters were forty years old, and had 
been sent during a period of three years from “Her 
Majesty’s sloop Hyacinth" at different foreign ports. 
They were stiff and formal, though withal courteous in 
tone, and various passages in them suggested that the 
writer had been an officer in the Royal Navy and a rel- 
ative of Mrs. Lumsden. They ceased with a letter writ- 
ten to “James Lumsden, Esq.,” expressing the writer’s 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 163 

‘'deep regret and sincere sorrow’^ on learning of his 
“dear niece’s sad and premature end.” 

There was another room opposite this office which 
had doubtless been intended for a breakfast-room, but 
was now stored with odds and ends: superfluous 
articles of furniture, some trunks, a pile of bound 
volumes of the Illustrated London News, and a few 
boxes full of miscellaneous rubbish. The passage on 
which these rooms opened terminated in two stone 
steps leading into the kitchen, which was the full 
width of the house. A notable piece of furniture in 
this room was an oaken dresser with shelves reaching 
to the ceiling. There were also a deal table, some 
kitchen chairs, and an arm-chair. 

From the blackened beams of its low sloping ceiling 
some hams and strings of onions hung, and an open 
tea-caddy stood on the table, with a leaden spoon in 
it, as though somebody had recently been making tea. 
An old brown earthenware teapot stood by the fire- 
place with tea-leaves still in the pot, and Crewe noticed 
on the mantelpiece a churchwarden pipe, with a spill 
of paper alongside. He found a pair of horn spec- 
tacles and an old newspaper on the top of the press 
beside the old-fashioned fire-place. Evidently the 
kitchen had been the favourite room of Frank Lums- 
den’s grandfather — the eccentric old man who had 
built the landing-place. 

Before examining the upper portion of the house 
Crewe closed the doors and windows he had opened, 
restoring things to the condition in which he had 
found them. Then he went upstairs, and, after open- 
ing the windows and blinds as he had opened them 


i 64 the mystery OF THE DOWNS 

downstairs, entered the room in which the murdered 
man had been discovered. 

It was while Crewe was thus engaged that his quick 
ears detected a slight crunch of footsteps on the 
ground outside, as though somebody was approaching 
the house. The room he was searching looked out on 
pasture land, but he was aware that there was a gravel 
path on the other side, running from the outbuildings 
at the side to the rear of the house. He crossed over 
to the corresponding room on that side of the house, 
and looked out of the open window, but could see no 
one. 

He ran quietly downstairs and into the kitchen. 
His idea was to watch the intruder by looking through 
one of the kitchen windows, without revealing his own 
presence, but he found to his annoyance that the little 
diamond shaped kitchen window which looked out 
on the back was so placed as to command a view 
of only a small portion of the bricked yard at the back 
of the house. 

He waited for a moment in the hope that the visitor 
would enter the house through the unlocked kitchen 
door, but as he heard no further sound he decided to 
go in search of the person whose footsteps he had 
heard. He opened the door and looked over the empty 
yard. Suddenly a woman’s figure appeared in the 
doorway of the barn on the left. Immediately she saw 
Crewe she retreated into the shed in the hope that 
she had not been seen. In order to undeceive her on 
this point, Crewe walked down the yard to the barn, 
but before he reached it she came out to meet him. 
She was young and pretty and well dressed. 

'‘You are Mr. Crewe,” she said with composure. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 165 

“And you are Miss Maynard. We have not met 
before, but I have heard a great deal about you.” 

She read suspicion in his use of the conventional 
phrase and she decided to meet it. 

“I came out to look at the old place — at the scene 
of this dreadful tragedy — before finally deciding what 
I ought to do.” 

He realized that having said so much she had more 
to say, and he gave her no assistance. 

“Perhaps Mr. Marsland has not told you, Mr. Crewe, 
that I was with him in the house when he discovered 
the body.” 

“He has not,” replied Crewe. 

“That makes it all the more difficult for me. I do 
not mind telling you, for you are his friend, and you 
are such a clever man that I feel I will be right in 
taking your advice.” 

Crewels mental reservation to be slow in offering 
her advice was an indication that his suspicions of her 
were not allayed. 

“I also sought shelter here from the storm on that 
fateful night,” she continued. “But because I was 
afraid of the gossip of Ashlingsea I asked Mr. Mars- 
land if he would mind keeping my name out of it. 
And he very generously promised to do so.” 

“A grave error on both sides,” said Crewe. 

She was quick in seizing the first opening he gave 
her. 

“That is the conclusion I have come to ; that is why 
I think I ought to go to the police and tell them that 
I was here. They may be able to make something out 
of my story — they may be able to see more in it than 
I can. My simple statement of facts might fit in with 


i66 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


some other information in their possession of which 
I know nothing, and in that way might lead to the 
detection of the man who killed Frank Lumsden. But 
how can I go to them and tell them I was here after 
I begged Mr. Marsland to say nothing about me ? He 
would never forgive me for placing him in such an 
embarrassing position. It would not be right.” 

“And it is not right to keep from the police any 
information to which they are entitled.” 

“That is my difficulty,” she said, with a smile of 
gratitude to him for stating it so clearly. 

“I have no hesitation in advising you to tell the 
police the whole truth,” said Crewe. 

“And Mr. Marsland?” 

“He must extract himself from the position in which 
his promise to you has placed him. He knows that 
the promise should never have been made, and doubt- 
less in the end he will be glad to have been released 
from it.” 

“I hope he will understand my motives,” she said. 

“Perhaps not. But he will begin to realize, what 
all young men have to learn, that it is sometimes diffi- 
cult to understand the motives which actuate young 
ladies.” 

That reply seemed to indicate to her that their con- 
versation had reached the level of polite banter. 

“Will you plead for me?” she asked. 

“That is outside my province,” was the disappoint- 
ing reply. “I understood you to say. Miss Maynard, 
that you came here that night for shelter from the 
storm. Did you arrive at the house before Marsland 
or after him?” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 167 


There was a moment of hesitation before her reply 
was given. 

few minutes before him.’’ 

‘‘No doubt you will materially assist the police by 
giving them a full account of what you know,” said 
Crewe. 


CHAPTER XYi 


**Good morning, sergeant.’’ 

“Good morning, Miss Maynard. What can I do 
for you?” 

It was seldom that Sergeant Westaway was so 
obliging as to make a voluntary offer of his services, 
but then it was still more seldom that a young lady 
of Miss Maynard’s social standing came to seek his' 
advice or assistance at the police station. As the 
daughter of a well-to-do lady, Miss Maynard was 
entitled to official respect. 

The sergeant had known Miss Maynard since her 
mother had first come to live at Ashlingsea fifteen 
years ago. He had seen her grow up from a little 
girl to a young lady, but the years had increased the 
gulf between them. As a schoolgirl home from her 
holidays it was within the sergeant’s official privilege 
to exchange a word or two when saluting her in the 
street. Her development into long dresses made any- 
thing more than a bare salutation savour of familiarity, 
and the sergeant knew his place too well to be guilty 
of familiarity with those above him. 

With scrupulous care he had always uttered the 
name “Miss Maynard,” when saluting her in those 
days, so that she might recognize that he was one of 
the first to admit the claims of adolescence to the 
honours of maturity. Then came a time with the 
further lapse of years when she reached the threshold 

i68 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 169 

of womanhood, and to utter her name in salutation 
would have savoured of familiarity. So the salute be- 
came a silent one as indicative of Sergeant Westaway^s 
recognition that his voice could not carry across the 
increased gulf between them. 

‘T have something very important to tell you,'' said 
Miss Maynard, in reply to his intimation that the full 
extent of his official powers were at her disposal. 
^‘Ah !" 

The sergeant realized that a matter of great per- 
sonal importance to Miss Maynard might readily prove 
to be of minor consequence to him when viewed 
through official glasses; but there was no hint of this 
in the combination of politeness and obsequiousness 
with which he opened the door leading from the main 
room of the little police station to his private room 
behind it. 

He placed a chair for her at the office table and 
then went round to his own chair and stood beside it. 
There was a pause, due to the desire to be helped with 
questions, but Sergeant Westaway's social sense was 
greater than his sense of official importance, and he 
waited for her to begin. 

'Tt is about the Cliff Farm murder," she said in a 
low voice. 

"‘Oh!" It was an exclamation in which astonish- 
ment and anticipation of official delight were blended. 
“And do you — do you know anything about it?" he 
asked. 

“I am not sure what you will think of my story — 
whether there is any clue in it. I must leave that 
for you to judge. But I feel that I ought to tell you 
all that I do know." 


170 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

^‘Quite right/^ said the sergeant. His official man- 
ner, rising like a tide, was submerging his social sense 
of inequality. “There is nothing like telling the police 
the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. 
It is always the best way.’' His social sense made a 
last manifestation before it threw up its arms and 
sank. “Not that I suppose for one moment. Miss 
Maynard, that you had anything to do with it — that 
is to say, that you actually participated in the crime.” 

He looked at her inquiringly and she shook her 
head, smiling sadly as she did so. 

“But there is no reason why, after all, you might 
not know who did it,” said the sergeant in a coaxing 
voice which represented an appeal to her to do her 
best to justify his high hopes. “In some respects it 
is a mysterious crime, and although the police have 
their suspicions — and very strong suspicions too — they 
are always glad to get reliable information, especially 
when it supports their suspicions.” 

“And whom do you suspect?” she asked. 

Sergeant Westaway was taken aback at such a ques- 
tion. It was such an outrageous attempt to penetrate 
the veil of official secrecy that he could refrain from 
rebuking her only by excusing it on the ground of 
her youth and inexperience. 

“At present I can say nothing,” was his reply. 

She turned aside from his official manoeuvring and 
took up her own story : 

“What I came to tell you is that I was at Cliff 
Farm on the night that poor Mr. Lumsden was shot.” 

“You were there when he was shot?” exclaimed 
the sergeant. 

“No; he was dead when I got there.” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 171 

^^Did you hear the shot?” 

^‘No.” 

“But you saw some one?” 

“I saw Mr Marsland.” 

“Ah!” The commonplace tone in which the word 
was uttered indicated that the sergeant was deeply 
disappointed with her story. “We know all about 
his visit there. He came and told us — it was through 
him that we discovered the body. He has been 
straightforwardness itself : he has told us everything.” 

“Did he tell you I was there ?” 

“No; he has not mentioned your name. Perhaps 
he didn’t see you.” 

“We were in the house together, and I was with 
him when he went upstairs and discovered the body.” 

“He has said nothing about this,” said the sergeant 
impressively. “His conduct is very strange in that 
respect.” 

“I am afraid I am to blame for that,” she said. 
“As he walked home with me from the farm on his 
way to the police station I asked him if he would mind 
saying nothing about my presence at the house. I 
told him that I was anxious to avoid all the worry and 
unpleasantness I should have to put up with if it was 
publicly known that I had been there. He readily 
agreed not to mention my name. I thought at the 
time that it was very kind of him, but in thinking 
it all over since I am convinced that I did wrong. I 
have come to the conclusion that it was a very extra- 
ordinary thing for him to agree to as he did, not 
knowing me — we had never met before. I felt that 
the right thing to do was to come to you and tell 
you all I know so that you can compare it with what 


172 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

Mr. Marsland has told you. In that way you will 
be able to make fuller inquiries, and to acquit him 
of any sinister motive in his kind offer to me to keep 
my name out of it.’’ 

The sergeant nodded his head slowly. There was 
much to take in, and he was not a rapid thinker. 

‘‘Any sinister motive?” he repeated after a long 
pause. 

“Of course I don’t wish to cast any suspicions on 
Mr. Marsland,” she said looking at the police officer 
steadily. “But it has already occurred to you. Ser- 
geant, that Mr. Marsland, in kindly keeping my name 
out of it, had to depart from the truth in the story 
he told you about his presence at Cliff Farm, and 
that he may have thought it advisable to depart from 
the truth in some other particulars as well.” 

The sergeant’s mental process would not have car- 
ried him that far without assistance, but there was no 
conscious indication of assistance in the emphasis with 
which he said: 

“I see that.” 

“Let me tell you exactly what happened so far as 
I am concerned,” she went on. 

“Yes, certainly.” He sat down in his chair and 
vaguely seized his pen. “Til write it down. Miss 
Maynard, and get you to sign it. Don’t go too fast 
for me; and it will be better for you if you take time 
—you will be able to think it over as you go along. 
This promises to be most important. Detective Gillett 
of Scotland Yard will be anxious to see it. I am sorry 
he’s not here now; he has been recalled to London, 
but I expect him down again to-morrow.” 

“On Friday, the night of the storm, I left my house 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 173 

about dusk — that would be after five o'clock — with 
the intention of taking a walk/’ she began. ‘T walked 
along the downs in the direction of Cliff Farm, in- 
tending to return along the sands from the cliff path- 
way. I was on the downs when the storm began to 
gather. I thought of retracing my steps, but the storm 
gathered so swiftly and blew so fiercely that I was 
compelled to seek shelter in the only house for miles 
around — Cliff Farm. 

“The wind was blowing hard and big drops of rain 
were falling when I reached the door. I knocked, but 
received no answer. Then I noticed that the key was 
in the door. Owing to the darkness, which had come 
on rapidly with the storm, I had not seen it at first. 
The door had a Yale lock and the key turned very 
easily. I was wearing light gloves, and when I turned 
the key in the lock I noticed it was sticky. I looked 
at my glove and saw a red stain — it was blood.” 

“Ah!” interrupted Sergeant Westaway. “A red 
stain — blood? Just wait a minute while I catch up to 
you.” 

“I was slightly alarmed at that,” she continued, 
after a pause; ^'but I had no suspicion that a cruel 
murder had been committed. In my alarm I took the 
key out of the lock and closed the door. I felt safer 
with the door locked against any possible intruder. I 
went into the sitting-room and sat down, after lighting 
a candle that I found on the hallstand. Then it 
occurred to me that Mr Lumsden might have left the 
key in the door while he went to one of the outbuild- 
ings to do some work. The blood might have got on 
it from a small cut on his hand.” 


174 the mystery OF THE DOWNS 

^‘What did you do with the key?’’ asked the Ser- 
geant. 

‘T brought it with me here.” She opened her bag 
and handed a key to the police officer. 

Sergeant Westaway looked at it closely. Inside the 
hole made for the purpose of placing the key on a 
ring he saw a slight stain of dried blood. He nodded 
to Miss Maynard and she continued her story. 

‘T felt more at ease then, and when I heard a knock 
at the door I felt sure it was he — that he had seen the 
light of the candle through the window and knew that 
whoever had taken the key had entered the house. I 
opened the door, but it was not Mr. Lumsden I saw, 
but Mr. Marsland. He said something about wanting 
shelter from the storm — that his horse had gone lame. 
He came inside and sat down. I told him that I, too, 
had sought shelter from the storm and that I supposed 
Mr. Lumsden, the owner of the house, was in one of 
the outbuildings attending to the animals. I saw that 
he was watching me closely and I felt uneasy. Then 
I saw him put his hand to the upper pocket of his 
waistcoat.” 

“What was that for?” asked the sergeant. 

“I think he must have lost a pair of glasses and 
temporarily forgotten that they were gone. He was 
not wearing glasses when I saw him but I have noticed 
since that he does wear them.” 

“I’ve noticed the same thing,” said the sergeant. 
“He was not wearing glasses the night he came here 
to report the discovery of Mr. Lumsden’s body — I 
am sure of that.” 

Miss Maynard, on resuming her narrative, told how 
Mr. Marsland and she, hearing a crash in one of 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 175 

the rooms overhead, went upstairs to investigate and 
found the dead body of the victim sitting in an arm- 
chair. When she realized that a dreadful crime had 
been committed she ran out of the house in terror. 
She waited in the path for Mr. Marsland and he was 
kind enough to escort her home. It was because she 
was so unnerved by the tragedy that she had asked 
Mr. Marsland to keep her name out of it not to tell 
any one that she had taken shelter at the farm. It 
was a dreadful experience and she wanted to try and 
forget all about it. But now she realized that she had 
done wrong and that she should have come to the 
police station with Mr. Marsland and told what she 
knew. 

“That is quite right, Miss Maynard,’’ said the ser- 
geant, as he finished writing down her statement. 
“Does Mr. Marsland know that you have come here 
to-day with the intention of making a statement?” 

“No; he does not, and for that reason I feel that 
I am not treating him fairly after he was so kind 
in consenting to keep my name out of it.” 

The sergeant had but a limited view of moral ethics 
where they conflicted with the interests of the police. 

“He should not have kept your name from me,” 
he said. “But, apart from what you have told me, 
have you any reason for suspecting that Mr. Marsland 
had anything to do with the murder of Frank Lums- 
den?” 

“That it was he who left the key in the door?” 

^‘Well— yes.” 

“If that is the case, his object in leaving the house 
for a few minutes might be to destroy traces of his 


176 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

guilt. But I saw nothing of a suspicious nature in his 
manner after I admitted him to the house.” 

The sergeant was impressed with the closeness of 
her reasoning — it seemed to shed more light. Clearly 
she had given the matter the fullest consideration be- 
fore deciding to make a statement. 

She added with a slight laugh: 

''You cannot call his action in feeling for a missing 
pair of glasses suspicious?” 

"No, no,” said the sergeant generously. "We can 
scarcely call that suspicious.” 

"What I do regard as suspicious — or, at any rate, 
as wanting in straightforwardness — is the fact that Mr. 
Marsland did not tell me that he knew Mr. Lumsden 
in France. They were both in the London Rifle 
Brigade — Mr. Marsland was a captain and Mr. Lums- 
den a private.” 

"Where did you learn this, Miss Maynard?” was 
the excited question. "Are you sure?” 

"Hasn’t he told the police?” she asked in a tone of 
astonishment. "Then perhaps it is not true.” 

"Where did you hear it ?” 

"In Staveley. I was talking to a wounded officer 
there on the front — Mr. Blake. He knew Mr. Mars- 
land as Captain Marsland and he knew Mr. Lumsden 
as well. I think he said poor Mr. Lumsden had been 
Captain Marsland’s orderly for a time.” 

"I must look into this,” said Sergeant Westaway. 

"Unfortunately Mr. Blake has returned to the front. 
He left Staveley yesterday.” 

"No matter. There are other ways of getting at 
the truth. Miss Maynard. As I said. Detective Gillett 
will be down here to-morrow and I’ll show him your 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 177 

statement. He will probably want to interview you 
himself and in that case I’ll send for you. But don’t 
you be alarmed — he’s a nice gentlemanly young fellow 
and knows how to treat a lady.” 

He was about to bow her out of the station when 
he suddenly remembered that she had not signed her 
statement. 

‘‘Would you please read through this and sign it?”' 
he asked. “A very important statement — clear and 
concise. I feel I must congratulate you about it, Miss 
Maynard.” 

She read through the sergeant’s summary of her 
narrative, but was unable to congratulate him on the 
way in which he had done his work. She felt that the 
statement she and her lover had compiled, to guide 
her in her narrative to the police, was a far more 
comprehensive document. 


CHAPTER XVI 


Miss Maynard's statement made such an impression 
on Sergeant Westaway that he determined to ride over 
to Staveley that afternoon and lay it before Inspector 
Murchison. He was so restless and excited at the new 
phase of the Cliff Farm murder which had been 
opened up by the young lady’s revelations that he 
decided the matter was too important to be allowed 
to remain where it was until Detective Gillett returned 
to Ashlingsea on the following day. 

Besides, twenty-five years’ rustication in Ashlingsea 
had made him so much of an idealist that he actually 
believed that any zealous activity he displayed in the 
only great crime which had ever happened during his 
long regime at Ashlingsea would be placed to his 
credit in the official quarters. 

After a midday dinner Sergeant Westaway wheeled 
forth his bicycle and, having handed over to Constable 
Heather the official responsibility of maintaining order 
in Ashlingsea, pedalled away along the cliff road to 
Staveley. The road was level for the greater part of 
the way and he reached Staveley in a little more than 
an hour of the time of his departure from Ashlingsea. 

Several persons — mostly women — were in the front 
office of the police station, waiting their turn to lay 
their troubles before the recognized guide and confidant 
of Staveley, but the constable in charge, who knew 
Sergeant Westaway, deferred to his official position 
178 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 179 

by taking him straight into the presence of Inspector 
Murchison and closing the door behind him. 

The inspector was seated in his office chair talking 
earnestly to a shabby young woman who carried a 
baby, and was crying bitterly. He looked up as West- 
away entered, and then he rose from his chair, as an 
intimation to the young woman in front of him that 
he had given her as much of the Government’s time 
as she had a right to expect. The young woman took 
the hint, rose to her feet and turned to go. On her 
way to the door she turned round and said in a plead- 
ing voice : 

“You’ll do the best you can to get him back, won’t 
you, sir?” 

“You can rely on me, Mrs. Richards,” responded the 
inspector, adding cheerily: “Keep your heart up; 
things are bound to come right in the end.” 

The young woman received this philosophic remark 
with a sob as she closed the door behind her. 

“A very sad case, that,” said Inspector Murchison 
to Sergeant Westaway. 

“Eh — yes?” responded the sergeant absently, for he 
was thinking of other things. 

“She’s Fanny Richards, the wife of Tom Richards, 
the saddler’s son,” continued the inspector. “I’ve 
known her since she was that high. Tom Richards 
was called up for service a little while ago, and his 
wife moved heaven and earth to get him exempted. 
She went to the right quarters too — she used to be 
housemaid there — but perhaps I’d better not mention 
names. At all events, the tribunal gave her husband 
total exemption. And what does her husband do? 
Is he grateful? Not a bit! Two days after the 


i8o THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


tribunal had exempted him the scoundrel cleared out 
— disappeared from the district with a chambermaid 
from one of the hotels on the front. I tell you, West- 
away, the ingratitude of some of our sex to the women 
they have sworn to love and cherish makes me angry. 
But, however, you haven’t come from Ashlingsea to 
discuss the failings of human nature with me. What 
can I do for you?” 

Before leaving Ashlingsea, Sergeant Westaway had 
withdrawn Miss Maynard’s statement from its official 
repository, and placed it carefully in his pocket-book. 
His hand wandered towards his breast pocket as he 
replied that his visit to Staveley was connected with 
the Cliff Farm case. 

“And what is the latest news about that ?” asked the 
inspector with interest. 

It was the moment for Sergeant Westaway’s tri- 
umph, and he slowly drew his pocket-book from his 
breast pocket and extracted the statement. 

“I have made an important discovery,” he an- 
nounced, in a voice which he vainly strove to keep 
officially calm. “It affects a — well-known and leading 
gentleman of your district. This paper” — he flattened 
it out on the table with a trembling hand — “is a state- 
ment made by Miss Maynard of Ashlingsea, which 
implicates Mr. Marsland, the nephew of Sir George 
Granville.” 

“In the Cliff Farm case?” 

Sergeant Westaway nodded portentously, and wiped 
the perspiration from his forehead — for the office fire 
was hot and he had ridden fast. 

Inspector Murchison took up the girl’s statement, 
and read it through. When he had finished it, he 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS i8i 


turned to the front page, and read it through again. 
Then he glanced up at his colleague gravely. 

'This is very important,” he said. “It throws a new 
aspect on the case.” 

Sergeant Westaway nodded. 

“This girl,” pursued Inspector Murchison, “she is 
of fairly good position, is she not?” 

Sergeant Westaway nodded again. 

“Her mother is a lady of independent means.” 

“I’ve heard of them, and I’ve seen the young lady 
and her mother once or twice when they’ve visited 
Staveley. Do you think the young lady is telling the 
whole truth here?” 

“Undoubtedly.” Sergeant Westaway’s tone indi- 
cated that when a member of the leading family of 
Ashlingsea set out to tell the truth nothing was kept 
back. 

The inspector got up from his chair and took a few 
turns up and down the office in a meditative way. 

“It’s a most extraordinary disclosure that this young 
woman has made,” he said at length. “Extraordinary 
— and awkward. I do not know what Sir George 
Granville will say when he learns that his nephew, 
instead of assisting the police, made a false and mis- 
leading statement. It is a very grave thing; a very 
dangerous thing in such a grave crime as this. It will 
give Sir George Granville a dreadful shock.” 

“It gave me a shock,” said Sergeant Westaway. 

“No doubt,” replied the inspector. “But Sir George 
Granville — is a different matter. We must consider 
his feelings; we must try to spare them. I hardly 
know what is best to be done. Obviously, the matter 
cannot be allowed to remain where it is, yet it is difiS- 


i 82 the mystery of THE DOWNS 


cult to see what is the proper course of action to 
pursue. I think the best thing will be to wait until 
Gillett returns from London and leave it to him. 
When do you expect him back?” 

‘T expect him back in the morning. I wired to him 
that I had obtained most important information.” 

‘T’ll be at the station when the London express 
comes in in the morning. If Gillett is on board I’ll go 
on with him to Ashlingsea.” 

In accordance with this arrangement, Inspector 
Murchison arrived at Ashlingsea in the morning, in 
the company of Detective Gillett. 

If Sergeant Westaway expected praise from the 
representative of Scotland Yard it was not forth- 
coming. Detective Gillett seemed in a peevish humour. 
His boyish face looked tired and careworn, and his 
blue eyes were clouded. 

“Let me have a look at this statement that you are 
making such a fuss about,” he said. 

Long afterwards, when Sergeant Westaway had 
ample leisure to go over all the events in connection 
with the Cliff Farm case, he alighted on the con- 
viction that the reason Detective Gillett was so offens- 
ive and abrupt in regard to Miss Maynard’s state- 
ment was that he did not like important information 
to reach the police while he was absent. 

“It is a voluntary and signed statement by Miss 
Maynard, a young lady of the district, who was at 
Cliff Farm the night of the murder,” said the sergeant, 
with dignity. 

“So much I know from Inspector Murchison, and 
also that the statement in some way implicates young 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 183 

what’s his name — Marsland. Let me have the docu- 
ment itself, Westaway.” 

The sergeant took it from his desk, and placed it 
in Detective Gillett’s hands. 

‘T have added on a separate sheet of paper a few 
notes I gathered in the course of conversation with 
Miss Maynard. The most important of them deals 
with the fact that young Marsland was a captain in 
the Army, and that Lumsden was under his command 
in France.” 

Gillett began with an air of official weariness to 
read the document Westaway had handed to him, but 
before he had read far the abstraction vanished from 
his face, and was replaced by keen professional inter- 
est. He read it closely and carefully, and then he pro- 
duced his pocket-book and stowed it away. 

“Westaway,” he said, “this is a somewhat important 
contribution to the case.” He paused for a moment 
and then turned sharply on Inspector Murchison. “I 
think you should have told me, Murchison, how dam- 
aging a piece of evidence this is against young Mars- 
land.” 

“Not so damaging,” said the inspector, in defence. 
“You see, young Marsland is Sir George Granville’s 
nephew ” 

“So you told me half a dozen times in the train,” 
said Gillett, “and as I knew it before I wasn’t much 
impressed with the information. What I say is that 
this statement places Marsland in a very awkward 
position. He has been deceiving us from first to last.” 

“I admit it is very thoughtless — very foolish of 
him,” replied the inspector. “But surely, Gillett, you 


i 84 the mystery OF THE DOWNS 

don’t think this young gentleman had anything to do 
with the murder?” 

“I am not going to be so foolish as to say that it 
could not possibly be him who did it. What does 
he mean by hiding from us the fact that Lumsden 
was under his command in France, and that on the 
night of the murder he met this girl Maynard at the 
farm. He seems to be a young gentleman who keeps 
back a great deal that the police ought to know. 
And I think you will admit, Murchison, that in that 
respect he is behaving like a very guilty man.” 

"‘But there may be other explanations which will 
place his conduct in a reasonable light — reasonable but 
foolish,” said the inspector, with an earnest disregard 
for the way in which these words contradicted each 
other. “Sir George Granville himself told me his 
nephew was an officer in the Army, but on account of 
his nervous breakdown the Army was never mentioned 
in his presence. And as for keeping Miss Maynard’s 
name out of his statement after she had asked him to 
do so — why it seems to me the sort of thing that any 
young man would do for a pretty girl.” 

“Especially if it played into his hands. If Alars- 
land committed the crime, he must have jumped at the 
chance offered him by Miss Maynard to keep silence 
about her presence at the farm, because that left him 
a free hand in the statement he made to Westaway. 
He had no need to be careful about any part of his 
statement, because he had not to harmonize any of It 
with what she knew about his presence there.” 

“And what are you going to do about her state- 
ment ?” asked th^ inspector, “You will confront Mars- 
land with it?’* 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 185 

‘Wes, but before I do that I am going to make a 
search of the farm for clues.” 

“But you have already done that. Westaway told 
me that he and Heather put in two days searching the 
buildings and the ground round the house.” 

“Inspector, you are not quite equal to the demands 
of the situation,” said the Scotland Yard man patron- 
izingly. “Westaway, myself and Heather searched 
the. house, the out-buildings and the grounds for clues 
— for traces left behind unwittingly by the murderer. 
Our impression then was that the murderer had got 
away as soon as he could — everything pointed to that. 
But in the light of this girl’s statement we must now 
search for clues purposely hidden by the murderer. 
What was Marsland doing when he went outside the 
house and left the key in the door so as to let him- 
self in again? Hiding something, of course! And 
where would he hide it? 

“There is only one place we haven’t searched, and 
that is the well,” continued Gillett. “The reason I 
didn’t have it emptied before was because I was not 
looking for hidden traces — the circumstances of the 
crime suggested that the murderer had gone off with 
the weapon that ended Lumsden’s life. But this girl’s 
statement showed that Marsland went out of the house 
and came back. What was he doing while he was out- 
side? This is what I am going to find out.” 

“I’ll go up to the farm with you,” said the inspector. 
“I want to see what comes of this. I want to know 
what I’ve got to say to Sir George Granville.” 

“You’ve got to say nothing; you leave it to me,” 
said Detective Gillett. “How long will it take to get 
the well emptied, Westaway?” 


i86 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


‘‘Four or five hours ought to be long enough, if I 
can get a couple of good men,” said the sergeant. 

“See about it at once. Send Heather up with the 
men to superintend. We will drive out there this 
afternoon. I have some inquiries to make in the village 
this morning, and I must also see Miss Maynard.” 

Gillett, after interviewing Miss Maynard and hav- 
ing his lunch with Inspector Murchison at The Black- 
Horned Sheep, got into an antiquated hooded vehicle, 
drawn by a venerable white horse, which Sergeant 
Westaway hired at the inn to take them to Cliff Farm. 
The innkeeper, .who, like all the rest of the town, was 
bursting with curiosity to learn the latest developments 
in the case, had eagerly volunteered to drive the police 
officers up to the farm, but Sergeant Westaway, de- 
termined that village gossip should learn nothing 
through him, had resolutely declined the offer, and 
drove the equipage himself. They set off with half the 
village gaping at them from their doors. 

Sergeant Westaway had intended to ask Detective 
Gillett for details concerning his interview with Miss 
Maynard, but he found that the sluggish and ancient 
quadruped between the shafts needed incessant urg- 
ing and rein- jerking to keep him moving at all. This 
gave him no time for conversation with the detective, 
who was seated in the back of the vehicle with In- 
spector Murchison. 

When they reached Cliff Farm Sergeant Westaway 
found another problem to engage his attention. 
A number of Ashlingsea people had been impelled by 
curiosity to take a hand in the pumping operations, 
until tiring of that mechanical labour, they had dis- 
tributed themselves around the farm, strolling about, 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 187 

gazing vacantly at the farm buildings, or peering 
through the windows ' of the house. Constable 
Heather, who had been sent up with the fishermen 
in order that constituted authority might be repre- 
sented in the pumping proceedings, frankly admitted 
to his superior officer that he had been unable to keep 
the curious spectators away from the scene. 

On hearing this. Sergeant Westaway jumped from 
the vehicle, and strode into the farmyard with a stern 
authority which had never been weakened by convivial 
friendship at The Black-Horned Sheep. It says much 
for the inherent rural respect for law and order that 
he was able to turn out' the intruders in less than 
five minutes, although the majority of them lingered 
reluctantly outside the front fence, and watched the 
proceedings from a distance. 

The two fishermen whom Constable Heather had 
engaged for the task of emptying the well had, with 
the ingenuity which distinguishes those who make their 
living on the sea, reduced the undertaking to its 
simplest elements. A light trench had been dug on 
that side of the well where the ground had a gentle 
slope, and, following the lie of the land, had been 
continued until it connected with one of the main 
drains of the farm. Therefore, all that remained for the 
two fishermen to do was to man the pump in turns 
till the well was empty, the water pouring steadily into 
the improvised trench and so reaching the main drain, 
which was carrying the water away to the ditch be- 
side the road. The originator of this plan was an 
elderly man with a round red face, a moist eye, and 
an argumentative manner. As the originator of the 
labour-saving device, he had exercised the right of 


i88 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


superior intelligence to relegate to his companion 
most of the hard labour of carrying it out. 

“You see/’ he said to Inspector Murchison, who 
happened to be nearest to him, “Tom here” — he indi- 
cated his assistant — “wanted to dig a long trench to 
yon hedge and carry the water out into the valley, 
but I says ‘What’s the use of going to all that trouble 
when it can be done a quicker way?’ I says to Tom, 
‘Let’s put a bit of gumption into it and empty it the 
easiest way. For once the water’s out of the well, 
it don’t matter a dump where it runs, for it’s no good 
to nobody.’ ” 

“Very true,” said Inspector Murchison, who be- 
lieved in being polite to everybody. 

“ ‘Therefore,’ says I to Tom, ‘it stands to reason 
that the quickest way to empty the well, and the 
way with least trouble to ourselves, will be to cut 
from here to that there drain there.’ ” 

“How much longer will you be emptying it?” de- 
manded Detective Gillett, approaching the well and 
interrupting the flow of the old man’s eloquence. 

“That depends, sir, on what water there’s in it.” 

This reply was too philosophical to appeal to the 
practical minded detective. He declared with some 
sharpness that the sooner it was emptied the better 
it would be for everybody. 

“We are getting towards the bottom now, sir,” 
said the man at the pump, who interpreted the de- 
tective’s words as a promise that beer would make its 
appearance when the water had gone. “It ain’t a very 
deep well, not more than fourteen feet at most, and 
I should say another half hour — maybe more — would 
see the end of this here job.” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 189 

^‘Very well, then, be as quick as you can.” 

The three police officers remained beside the well, 
watching the pumping. In a little more than half an 
hour the flow of water from the mouth of the pump 
began to decrease. Then the pump began to gurgle and 
the water stopped. Suction had ceased and the well 
was practically empty. 

Under Detective Gillett’s instructions the men who 
had emptied the well removed the boards which cov- 
ered the top,, and one of them went to the barn and 
returned with a long ladder. Between them they low- 
ered the ladder into the empty well. The ladder was 
more than long enough to reach the bottom, for the 
top was several feet above the mouth of the well. 

“That will do, men,” ordered the Scotland Yard 
detective. He climbed to the edge of the well as he 
spoke. 

“Have you a light?” asked Sergeant Westaway in 
a moment of inspiration. 

For reply Detective Gillett displayed a powerful 
electric torch, and placed one foot on the ladder. 

“Better take the stable lantern, sir,” urged the in- 
ventor of the well-emptying plan. “You’ll find it 
better down there than them new-fangled lights. You’ll 
be able to see further with a sensible lantern.” 

“And you’d better put on my boots,” said the other 
fisherman. “The well’s a bricked ’un, but it’ll be main 
wet and muddy down there.” 

Detective Gillett pronounced both ideas excellent 
and acted on them. Sergeant Westaway procured the 
stable lantern, and lighted it while the detective drew 
on the fisherman’s long sea boots. Thus equipped, and 
holding the lantern in his right hand, with an empty 


190 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

bag over his shoulder, the Scotland Yard man stepped 
on to the ladder, and disappeared from view. 

Sergeant Westaway intimated to the fishermen who 
had emptied the tank that the work for which they had 
been engaged was finished ; but it was some minutes 
before he could make it clear to their slow intellects 
that their presence was no longer required. When 
they did understand, they were very loath to withdraw, 
for they had looked forward with delight to seeing the 
emptied well yield up some ghastly secret — perhaps 
another murdered body — and it was only by the exer- 
cise of much sternness that Sergeant Westaway was 
able to get them away from the scene by personally 
escorting them off the farm and locking the gate after 
them. 

He returned to the well to see Detective Gillett 
emerging from it. Gillett was carrying the bag and the 
lantern in one hand, and it was obvious that the bag 
contained something heavy. The triumphant face of 
the detective, as he emerged into the upper air, indi- 
cated that he had made some important discovery. 
He stepped off the ladder and emptied the contents of 
the bag on the ground. They consisted of a heavy 
pair of boots, hobnailed and iron-shod, such as are 
worn by country labourers and farmers, and a five- 
chambered revolver. The revolver was rusty through 
immersion in the water, and the boots were sodden 
and pulpy from the same cause. 

Inspector Murchison and Sergeant Westaway in- 
spected the articles in silence. At length the former 
said : 

“This is a very important discovery.^’ 

“I would direct your attention to the fact that it is 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 191 

a Webley revolver — one of the two patterns approved 
by the War Office for Army officers,” said Dective Gil- 
lett. “Unless I am much mistaken it is a 4.5 — that is 
the regulation calibre for the Army. And I have 
discovered more than that !” 

The police officers ceased looking at the articles on 
the ground, and directed their eyes to the Scotland 
Yard detective in response to the note of exultation 
in his voice. In answer to their look he put his hand 
into a side pocket and withdrew a small article which 
he had wrapped in a handkerchief. Unrolling the 
latter carefully, he held up for their inspection a pair 
of gbld-rimmed eyeglasses. 


CHAPTER XVII 


*We have evidence, Captain Marsland, that the 
statement you made to Sergeant Westaway regarding 
your discovery of the dead body of Frank Lumsden 
at Cliff Farm on the night of Friday, i6th October, is 
untrue.” 

If Detective Gillett had expected the young man 
to display either alarm or resentment at this state- 
ment he was disappointed. Marsland made no out- 
ward sign of astonishment at being addressed by his 
military title by the detective, or at being accused of 
having made a false statement. With steady eyes he 
met the detective’s searching gaze. 

In response to a request telephoned by Detective 
Gillett to Sir George Granville’s house at Staveley, 
Marsland and Crewe had motored over to Ashlingsea 
police station. They had been met on their arrival 
by the detective and Sergeant Westaway, and after a 
constrained welcome had been conducted to the Ser- 
geant’s inner room. The door had been carefully 
closed, and Constable Heather, who was in the outer 
room, had been told by his superior that on no ac- 
count were they to be disturbed. 

There was such a long pause after Detective GiU 
lett had exploded his bomb, that the obligation of open- 
ing up the situation suggested itself to him. 

“Do you deny that?” he asked. 

“I do not.” In a clear tone and without any indica- 
192 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 193 

tion of embarrassment the young man made his reply. 

“You admit that your statement is false ?” 

“I do.’^ 

“What was your object in making a false statement 
to the police?” 

“I am not prepared to tell you at present.” 

“Well, perhaps you know your own business best, 
Captain Marsland, but I warn you that you are in a 
very serious position. It is for you to decide whether 
the truth will help you or not.” 

“Do you intend to make a charge against me ?” 

Gillett was taken aback at this blunt question. He 
had arranged the interview because he believed he was 
in a position to embarrass the young man with a veiled 
threat of police action, but the young man, instead of 
waiting for the threats, wanted to know if the police 
were prepared to act. But Detective Gillett was too 
experienced an officer to display the weakness of his 
hand. 

“I intend to detain you until I have made further 
inquiries,” he said. 

“How long will these inquiries take ?” asked Crewe. 

“No one knows better than you, Mr. Crewe, that 
it is impossible for me to answer such a question,” said 
the Scotland Yard man. “One thing leads to another 
in these cases. As Captain Marsland shows no dispo- 
sition to help us, they will take at least three or four 
days.” 

“But perhaps I can help you,” suggested Crewe. 

“Well, I don’t know what evidence you have picked 
up in the course of your investigations, Mr. Crewe, 
but I can tell you that Westaway and I have some evi- 
dence that will startle you. Haven’t we, Westaway?” 


194 the mystery OF THE DOWNS 

“Very startling evidence indeed/’ said the sergeant, 
in a proud official tone. 

“I am glad of that,” said Crewe. “Perhaps the ad- 
dition of the little I have picked up — that is the addi- 
tion of whatever part of it is new to you — will en- 
able you to solve this puzzling crime.” 

“Very likely indeed,” said Gillett. “There are not 
many links missing in our chain of evidence.” 

“I congratulate you,” responded Crewe. “There are 
a good many missing in mine.” 

Gillett broke into a laugh in which there was a dis- 
tinct note of self-satisfaction. 

“That is a very candid admission, Mr. Crewe.” 

“As between you and me why shouldn’t there be 
candour?” said Crewe. “But what about my young 
friend Marsland? As it is a case for candour between 
you and me, we can’t have him present. For my part, I 
should prefer that he was present, but of course that 
is impossible from your point of view. You cannot 
go into your case against him in his presence.” 

“Certainly not,” said Gillett decisively. “And be- 
fore I produce my evidence to you, Mr. Crewe, I must 
have your word of honour not to tell a living soul, 
not to breathe a hint of it to any one, least of all to 
Captain Marsland. If you give me your word of 
honour I’ll be satisfied. That is the sort of reputa- 
tion you have at Scotland Yard — if you want to 
know.” 

“It is very good of you to talk that way,” replied 
Crewe. “I give you my word of honour not to speak 
to any one of what happens here, until you give me 
permission to do so. Marsland will wait outside in 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 195 

charge of Constable Heather. He will give you his 
word of honour not to attempt to escape.” 

‘Ts that so ?” asked Gillett of the young man. 

Marsland nodded, and was handed over to Con- 
stable Heather’s care by Sergeant Westaway. When 
the sergeant returned he closed the door carefully. 

'Xock it,” said Gillett. ^^And cover up the key^- 
hole; we don’t want any one peeping through at 
what we’ve got here.” 

‘T like this,” said Crewe with a smile. 'T feel that 
I am behind the scenes.” 

‘‘As regards Captain Marsland,” said Gillett after 
a pause, “I may as well tell you, Mr. Crewe, that I 
don’t want to deal more harshly with him than the 
situation demands — at this stage. Things may be 
very different a little later — it may be outside my 
power to show him any consideration. But I don’t 
want to detain him here — I don’t want to lock him up 
if it can be avoided. You know what talk there would 
be both here and in Staveley. I am thinking of his 
uncle. Sir George Granville. I’ll tell you what I’ll 
do. If he will give me his word of honour that he 
will not attempt to escape, and if you and his uncle 
will do the same, I’ll let him go back to Staveley in 
charge of Heather. There will be no difficulty in ex- 
plaining Heather’s presence there to any friends of 
Sir George’s. What do you think of it?” 

“Excellent!” said Crewe. 

What was most excellent about it, in the private 
opinion of Crewe, was the ingenious way in which it 
extricated Detective Gillett from an awkward situa- 
tion. When he had arranged the interview for the 
purpose of frightening Marsland with a threat of de- 


196 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

tention, he had had this plan in his mind. He had 
not quite sufficient evidence against Marsland to jus- 
tify him in arresting that young man without some 
damaging admissions on the part of the young man 
himself. And the plan to place him in charge of 
Heather was a technical escape from the difficulties 
that surrounded Marsland’s actual arrest at that stage ; 
but, on the other hand, it would appear in the young 
man’s eyes as though he were under arrest and this 
was likely to have an important influence in getting 
some sort of confession from him. 

“Bring out those things,” said Dletective Gillett to 
Sergeant Westaway, and pointing to the cupboard 
against the wall. 

Westaway produced a hand-bag and placed it on 
the table. Gillett took a bunch of keys from his 
trousers pocket and unlocked the bag. 

“First of all, here is the key of the house,” he said, 
as he held out in the palm of his hand the key of a 
Yale lock. “As you must have noticed, Mr. Crewe, the 
front door of the farmhouse closes with a modern Yale 
lock; the old lock is broken and the bolt is tied back 
with a string. You will notice, inside the hole for the 
key to go on a ring, that there is a stain of blood. 
Next, we have a pair of heavy boots. These were 
worn by the man who murdered Frank Lumsden, for 
they correspond exactly with the plaster casts we took 
of the footprints outside the window.” 

Westaway, who had opened the door of the cup- 
board, placed on the table near Crewe two plaster 
casts. 

Crewe, after returning the key he had been examin- 
ing, compared the boots with the plaster casts. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 197 

'T believe you are right/' he said, after a pause. 

“Here we have the bullet that was fired. As you 
will remember, Mr. Crewe, it went clean through 
Lumsden’s body, and through the window. But what 
you don’t know is that it struck a man who was hid- 
ing in the garden near the window. It struck him in 
the left arm." 

“Who was this man?” asked Crewe. 

“His name is Tom Jauncey. He is the son of an 
old shepherd who worked for Lumsden’s grandfather.” 

“One of the servants who was left a legacy in the 
old man’s will?” said Crewe inquiringly. 

“That is correct,” replied Gillett. “From the bul- 
let we go to the weapon that fired it. Here it is — an 
ordinary Webley revolver such as is issued to army 
officers, Mr. Crewe.” 

“Yes, I know a little about them,” said Crewe, as 
he took it in his hands to look at it. 

“And, last of all, here is a pair of glasses which 
we have ascertained came from the well-known optical 
firm of Baker & Co., who have branches all over Lon- 
don, and were made for Captain Marsland.” 

“Where did you find them ?” asked Crewe. 

“In the well at the farm.” 

“How did they get there?” 

“I don’t think it is an unnatural assumption that 
they were blown off when the wearer was stooping 
over the well to drop some articles into it. Remember 
that there was a big storm and a high wind on the 
night of the murder. The boots and the revolver we 
also found in the well. Our theory is that tke mur- 
derer dropped these things into the well in order to 
get rid of them, and that while he was doing it bis 


198 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

glasses were blown into the well. As you know, 
Marsland wears glasses — he is wearing them now. But 
Sergeant Westaway will swear that he was not wear- 
ing them when he came to the station to report the 
discovery of the body. We have other interesting evi- 
dence in the same direction, but let that go for the 
present.’’ 

“But the boots,” said Crewe. “You don’t pretend 
that they belong to Marsland?” 

“They probably belonged to the murdered man — ^that 
is a point which we have not yet settled.” 

“And how does that fit in with your theory that 
the murderer broke into the house?” 

“The murderer found these boots in the barn, the 
cowshed, or one of the other outbuildings. Lumsden 
did not wear such heavy boots habitually — remember 
that he had been a clerk, not a farmer. But he would 
want a heavy pair of boots like these for walking 
about the farm-yard in wet weather, and probably 
he kept them in one of the outbuildings, or at any 
rate left them there on the last occasion he wore 
them. The intending murderer, prowling about the 
outbuildings before breaking into the house, found 
these boots, and with the object of hiding his traces 
put them on. After he had finished with them he 
put on his own boots and threw these down the 
well.” 

“And your theory is that Marsland is the mur- 
derer ?” 

“I don’t say that our case against him is quite com- 
plete yet, but the evidence against him is very strong.” 

“Can you suggest any motive ?” 

“Yes, Marsland was a captain in the London Rifle 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 199 

t 

Brigade ; Lumsden was a private in the same bat- 
talion. They served together in France.’' 

‘‘But the motive ?” asked Crewe. 

“Our information is that Lumsden and a man 
against whom Captain Marsland had a personal 
grudge — a man whom it was his interest to get out 
of the way — were sent by Captain Marsland on a false 
mission towards the German lines. Marsland ex- 
pected that both would fall victims to the Germans. 
Lumsden’s companion was killed, but Lumsden was 
captured alive and subsequently escaped. What is 
more likely than that Marsland, riding across the 
downs, should call in at Cliff Farm when his horse 
fell lame. There, to his surprise, he found that Lums- 
den was the owner of the farm. They talked over 
old times, and Marsland learned that Lumsden was 
aware of his secret motive in sending them on such 
a dangerous mission. Marsland took his leave, but 
determined to put Lumsden out of the way. He stole 
back and hid in the outbuildings, broke into the house, 
and shot the man who could expose him.” 

“A very ingenious piece of work,” said Crewe. 
“Everything dovetails in.” 

“I am glad you agree with it,” said Gillett. 

“But I don’t,” was the unexpected reply. “Lums- 
den was not murdered at the farm. He was shot in 
the open, somewhere between Staveley and Ashlingsea, 
and his dead body was brought into the house in a 
motor-car. It could not have been Marsland who 
brought the dead body there, because he was on horse- 
back, and his lamed horse was in the stable at the 
farm when we were all there next day.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


‘^You are on the wrong track, Mr. Crewe,” said Gil- 
lett, who was determined not to part with the theory 
he had built up round the evidence he had collected. 
‘T was positive the murder took place in the house. 
This man Jauncey, whom I mentioned, can swear 
that he heard a shot fired. And more than that, he 
can swear that he was hit by the bullet. This is the 
bullet that was extracted from his wound in the left 
arm. It fits this revolver.” 

'‘My dear Gillett, I don’t dispute any of these 
things,” said Crewe. "They merely support my con- 
tention that the murder was not committed at the farm, 
but that the body was brought there, and that the 
man who took the body there took certain steps with 
the object of creating the impression that the tragedy 
took place in the room in which the body was found.” 

"What evidence have you of that?” asked Sergeant 
Westaway, coming to the aid of his official superior. 

"The bullet that killed Lumsden went clear through 
his body — so much was decided at the post-mortem 
examination,” Crewe said. "But that fact was also evi- 
dent from a cursory examination of the body, as we 
saw it in the chair. You will remember that I drew 
attention to the fact when we were looking at the body. 
Your theory is that the shot was fired as Lumsden was 
standing at the window, with his back towards his 
murderer, that the bullet went through him, through 
200 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 201 

the window, and lodged in the arm of this man 
Jauncey who stated he was outside in the gar- 
den. But the course of the bullet through Lumsden's 
body was slightly upv/ard. How in that case could 
it strike downward and wound a man on the ground 
ten or twelve feet below the windows on the first 
story ?” 

'The bullet might have been deflected by the glass 
of the window,” said Gillett. 

'Tt might have been, but it is highly improbable 
that ordinary window-glass would deflect a bullet — 
even a spent one. In any case this bullet hit the 
cherry-tree outside the window before hitting Jauncey. 
You will find that it cut the bark of the cherry-tree — 
the mark is 4 ft. 43/2 inches from the ground.” 

“Then it was the cherry-tree that deflected it ?” said 
Sergeant Westaway. 

“Yes and no,” said Crewe. “Certainly its course 
was deflected downwards after hitting the cherry-tree 
— I assume that Jauncey was close to the tree. But 
if it had not been travelling downwards, it would have 
hit the tree much higher up — somewhere near the 
level of the window. The bullet that hit Jauncey was 
fired in the room in which we saw the body, but it 
was fired by the man who took the body to the farm, 
with the intention of giving the impression that the 
crime took place there. Knowing that the bullet which 
killed Lumsden had gone through his body, he placed 
the body in a chair near the window and then fired a 
shot through the window. He made the mistake of 
going close up to the window to fire, and as a re- 
sult he fired downwards instead of on a level at the 
height of the wound in Lumsden’s body.” 


202 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


“If that is all you have to support your theory ” 

began Detective Gillett. 

“It isn’t all,” said Crewe, with a slight indication 
of impatience. “It is only my first point. You will 
recall that on the stairs there were indications that 
a wet rag had been used for wiping away some traces 
or stains. Inspector Payne suggested that the rag 
had been used to wipe away muddy boot-marks on the 
stairs — the traces of these boots. These boots were 
not worn by the man as he went upstairs ; he put them 
on afterwards. Presently I will tell you why he 
did. But the marks on the stairs were not the marks 
of muddy boots. They were stains of blood which 
dropped from the dead man’s wound, as his body was 
carried upstairs. These marks are in the hall leading 
to the stairs and on the landing leading to the room 
in which the body was placed. In the room itself no 
attempt to remove the blood-stains was made, be- 
cause they were an indication that the shooting took 
place there. If he had been aware that there was 
a stain of blood on the latch-key which he took from 
the dead man’s pocket, he would have washed it 
away.” 

“If he had possession of the key in order to get the 
body into the house in the way you state, Mr. Crewe, 
why did he break into the house? Remember one of 
the downstairs windows was forced.” 

“It was forced by the man who took the body there. 
But he forced it in breaking out of the house — not 
in breaking into it. He wanted to give the impres- 
sion that some one had broken into the house, but 
he was pressed for time — he was anxious to get away. 
In searching for a rag in the kitchen with which 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 203 

to wipe out the bloodstains, he saw these boots. They 
belonged to Lumsden, as you have said, but it w^as more 
likely that Lumsden kept them in the kitchen than 
in the barn or cowshed. This man — let us call him the 
murderer — saw in the boots a means of averting sus- 
picion from himself. He decided to leave clues that 
would suggest that the murderer broke into the house. 
But, instead of going out of the front door and break- 
ing into the house, he forced the window from inside 
the room. Then, with these boots on, he climbed out 
of the window^ backwards, and when he reached the 
ground he walked backwards across the garden bed 
to the path in order to give the impression that some 
one had walked forwards across the bed to the win- 
dow. 

“You saw from the sash of the window that the 
catch had been forced back by a knife, but appar- 
ently you overlooked the fact that the marks of the 
knife are much broader at the top, where the catch 
is, than at the bottom, where the knife would enter 
if the catch had been forced by some one outside. It 
was at the top, near the catch, and not at the bot- 
tom below it, that the knife was inserted; that is to 
say, the knife was used by some one inside the room. 
The footprints outside the window showed that they 
were made by a person walking backwards; the im- 
pression from the toe to the ball of the foot being 
very distinct and the rest of the foot indistinct. A 
person in walking backwards puts down his toes first, 
and gradually brings the rest of his foot down ; a per- 
son walking forwards puts his heel down first and 
then puts down the rest of his foot as he brings his 
weight forward. Our man, having made his way to 


204 the mystery of THE DOWNS 

the garden path from the window, walked along the 
path to the motor-car at the gate, probably carrying his 
own boots in his hand. As soon as he entered his 
car he drove off along the road in the direction of 
Staveley with the lights out. He took a risk in 
travelling in the dark, and in spite of the fact that 
he knew the road well he came to grief before he 
reached Staveley.” 

“How do you know all this?” asked Gillett. “How 
do you know he had a car?” He had not given up 
his own theory in favour of Crewe’s, but he realized 
that Crewe’s theory was the more striking one. 

“In Marsland’s statement he said that his horse 
swerved from something in the dark as he was coming 
down the Cliff road, and fell lame,” said Crewe. “The 
horse shied at the motor-car as it passed. Marsland 
neither saw nor heard the car because of the dark- 
ness, intensified by the storm, and because of the 
roar of the wind and waves.” 

“You don’t really expect us to regard the swerving 
of the horse as proof there was a motor-car there ?” de- 
manded Gillett, with a superior smile. 

“Contributory proof,” said Crewe. “If you went 
along the cliff road, as I did on leaving the farm after 
meeting you there, you would have noticed that the 
danger post nearest the farm was out of the perpen- 
dicular. That was not the case previous to the night 
of the storm. This motor-car without lights bumped 
into it. The mark of the wheels where the car had left 
the road was quite plain when I looked — it had not 
been obliterated by the rain. Four miles away the 
car was run into the ditch and overturned. I saw 
it as Sir George Granville and I drove along to Cliff 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 205 

Farm on Saturday morning. If you want informa- 
tion concerning it and the person who drove it you 
can obtain it at Gosford’s garage at Staveley. The 
car was hired from Gosford.’’ 

“By whom?” asked Gillett. 

“By a man named Arnold Brett, who was a very 
close friend of the dead man.” 

“I know all about Brett from Inspector Murchison,” 
said Gillett. “He rang me up about him and promised 
to let me know when he came back to his lodgings 
at Staveley. He said that Brett was a close friend of 
Lumsden's, and would probably be able to give us 
some useful information when he returns.” 

“When will he return?” asked Crewe. 

“You think he has cleared out?” suggested Gillett. 

“Fm sure of it,” was the reply. 

“Murchison gave the impression that he was sure 
to come back — that he had left Staveley the day be- 
fore the murder. I understood from Murchison that 
Brett is doing some secret service work for the Gov- 
ernment, and that it was quite a regular thing for him 
to disappear suddenly.” 

“No doubt it was,” said Crewe. “But this time he is 
not coming back.” 

“I’ll ring up Murchison,” said Gillett. 

“Don’t waste your time,” was Crewe’s reply. 
“Murchison is an excellent fellow — an ideal police 
official for a quiet seaside place where nothing hap- 
pens, but too genial and unsuspecting for an emer- 
gency of this kind. Go and see Brett’s apartments at 
Staveley — No. 41 Whitethorn Gardens — and the land- 
lady, Mrs. Penfield, will tell you as she told Murchi- 
son, and as she told me also, that Brett left Staveley 


2o6 the mystery of THE DOWNS 


on secret service work on Thursday morning, 1 5th Oc- 
tober, and that she expects him back at any moment. 
But go to Gosford and he will show you the car that 
Brett hired on Friday. 

‘‘He will tell you that on Saturday about mid- 
day Brett rang him up — from Lewes, Gosford says, but 
it was more probably from Marlingsea, on his way 
to London — and told him that he had met with an 
accident with the car, and that it was lying in the 
ditch on the side of the road about six miles out from 
Staveley on the road to this place. It was there that 
Gosford’s foreman found the car when he went for 
it.. If Brett hired a car at Staveley on Friday he 
couldn’t have left Staveley on Thursday, as his land- 
lady says. She doesn’t know what to think in regard 
to this murder, but she is ready to shield Brett all 
she can because she is in love with him.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


‘T MUST say that I feel very grateful to you, Mr. 
Crewe,’’ said Detective Gillett after a pause. “You 
have certainly got hold of some facts of which I was 
not aware. And your deductions are most interest- 
ing. What do you say, Westaway?” 

“Most interesting,” said the sergeant. “I had heard 
a' lot of Mr. Crewe before I met him, but I’d like 
to say that it’s a great privilege to listen to his de- 
ductions.” 

“Oh, I don’t go so far as to accept his theory and 
abandon my own,” interposed Gillett hurriedly. “To 
my mind there is truth in both of them, and the whole 
truth will probably be found in a judicious combina- 
tion of both.” 

Crewe could scarcely hide his impatience at Gil- 
lett’s obstinacy, and his determination to claim at least 
an equal share in solving the mystery. 

“My dear Gillett,” he said, “let us abandon theories 
and keep to facts. The great danger in our work is 
in fitting facts to theories instead of letting the facts 
speak for themselves. If you still think you have 
a case against Marsland, let us go into it. It is no 
part of my work to prove Marsland innocent if he is 
guilty; I have no object in proving Brett guilty if 
he is innocent. But as the guest of Sir George Gran- 
ville, I want to save him and his nephew unnecessary 
207 


2o8 the mystery of THE DOWNS 


distress and anxiety. By a full and frank discussion 
we can decide as man to man whether there is any 
real case for Marsland to answer. I admit that you 
have justification for some suspicions - in regard to 
him, but let us see if the fog of suspicion cannot be 
cleared away by a discussion of the facts.” 

'Tt will take a great deal to convince me that he 
doesn’t know more about this tragedy than he ha^ 
told us,” said Gillett doggedly. 

“But are we to find him guilty merely because he 
chooses to keep silence on certain points?” 

“What is his object in keeping silence? What was 
his object in making a false statement? What is his 
object in putting obstacles in our way? Is that the 
conduct of an innocent man?” 

“It is not the conduct of a man anxious to help the 
police to the utmost of his power without regard to 
consequences,” said Crewe. “But there is a wide gulf 
between being guilty of keeping something back and 
being guilty of murder.” 

“When the thing kept back suggests a motive for 
getting the man who was murdered out of the way, it 
is natural to see a connection between the two,” re- 
turned Gillett. 

“And what was the thing that Marsland kept back ?” 

“He kept back that he was an officer in the army — 
Captain in the London Rifle Brigade. He kept back 
that this man Lumsden was a private in his com- 
pany.” 

“But the discovery of these things did not present 
any great difficulty to a police official of your re- 
sources, Gillett.” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 209 

^‘No, they did not/' the detective admitted. “But 
we should have been told of them in the first place." 

“True. But listen to the explanation why you were 
not told. Marsland has been an invalid for some 
months. He was invalided out of the army because 
of wounds and nervous shock. He broke down as 
many others have broken down, under a long ex- 
perience of the awful horrors of the front. In order 
to assist in his recovery the doctors ordered that as 
far as possible his mind should be kept from dwelling 
on the war. For this reason the war is never men- 
tioned in his presence by those who know of his 
nervous condition. He is never addressed by them 
as an army officer, but as a civilian." 

“All that is very interesting, Mr. Crewe, but it does 
not dispose of the information in our possession. 
You see, the circumstances in which Captain Mars- 
land came into this affair were so very extraordinary, 
that he might well have told Westaway the truth 
about the military connection between himself and 
Lumsden. It was an occasion when the whole truth 
should have been told. We could not have been long 
in learning from his relatives that he was suffering 
from nervous shock, and we would have shown him 
every consideration." 

“That is an excellent piece of special pleading," said 
Crewe. “But you do not take into consideration the 
fact that the evasion of everything that dealt with 
the Army, and particularly with his old regiment, has 
become a habit with Marsland." 

“Our information," said Gillett slowly and impres- 
sively, “is that he believed Lumsden was dead — that 
he had been killed in France. That in his capacity as 


210 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

i 

f 

an officer he sent Lumsden and another man to their 
death. He had a grudge against this other man. 
Lumsden’s companion was killed but Lumsden was 
taken prisoner and subsequently escaped. If that is 
correct, it supplies a strong motive for getting Lums- 
den out of the way when he discovered that Lums- 
den was alive and in England.” 

‘When did Marsland make this discovery?” 
“That I don’t know. But he could easily have 
made it and obtained Lumsden’s address from the 
headquarters of the London Rifle Brigade.” 

“Did he make such inquiries there?” 

“I have not obtained positive proof that he did. 
But as a retired officer of the Brigade, who knows his 
way about their headquarters, he could do it for 
himself in a way that would leave no proof.” 

“Who was the man that Marsland sent out on a 
mission of death with Lumsden?” 

“I haven’t got the name.” 

“Can’t you get it?” 

“I am afraid not. It is not a thing one could get 
from the regimental records.” 

“But cannot you get it from your informant — 
from the person who is your authority for the story?” 
“Not very well.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Our informant is anonymous. He sent me a let- 
ter.” 

“And since when have you begun to place implicit 
faith in anonymous letters, my dear Gillett?” 

The detective flushed under this gentle irony. “I 
don’t place implicit faith in it. But it fits in with 
other information in our possession. And you ought 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 21 1 


to know better than to despise anonymous informa- 
tion, Mr. Crewe. It is not difficult to conceive cir- 
cumstances in which a man is willing to give the 
police very valuable information, but will not come 
into the open to do it.’’ 

“But it is even less difficult,” replied Crewe, “to 
conceive circumstances in which a man tries to divert 
suspicion from himself by directing the attentions of 
the police to some one else by means of an anonymous 
letter.” 

“I haven’t overlooked that,” said Gillett confidently. 

“And this anonymous communication fits in with 
other information in your possession — other informa- 
tion that you have received from Miss Maynard?” 
Crewe looked steadily at Gillett, and then turned his 
gaze on Westaway. 

“So, you know about her?” was Gillett’s comment. 

“She did me the honour of asking my advice when 
I met her two days ago at Cliff Farm.” 

“What was she doing there?” 

“Didn’t she tell you?” 

“She did not.” 

“I understood from her that it was her firm de- 
termination to tell you everything — to take you fully 
into her confidence, and throw all the light she could 
on the tragedy.” 

“She told us that she was at the farm the night 
Captain Marsland was there,” said Gillett. “She 
sought shelter there from the storm and went up- 
stairs with Captain Marsland when the body was dis- 
covered. He said nothing whatever about this in his 
statement to Westaway.” 


212 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


“Nothing whatever/’ said Westaway. “He led me 
to believe he was entirely and absolutely alone ” 

“But why didn’t she come to the police station 
that night and make her own statement ?” asked Crewe. 
“Why all this delay?” 

“Her first impulse was to keep her name out of it 
because of the way people would talk,” said Sergeant 
Westaway, who, as an old resident of Ashlingsea, felt 
better qualified than Detective Gillett to interpret the 
mental process of one of the inhabitants of the little 
town. 

“And so she asked Marsland to say nothing about 
her presence at the farm ?” asked Crewe. 

“She admits that,” was Westa way’s reply. 

“Of course she had to admit it in order to clear 
the way for a statement implicating Marsland in the 
crime,” said Crewe. 

“That was not her motive. After thinking over all 
that happened, she decided that by shielding herself 
from idle gossip she might be helping unconsciously to 
shield the murderer.” 

“And she told you everything,” said Crewe. 

“Everything,” said Sergeant Westaway emphatically. 

“She told you why she was waiting at the farm 
on the night that Lumsden’s dead body was brought 
there?” 

“She went there for shelter from the storm,” ex- 
plained the confident sergeant. “That would be after 
the body was brought there — if your theory is cor- 
rect, Mr. Crewe ; and after he was shot in the house — 
if our theory is correct. Our theory is that Captain 
Marsland, after committing the crime, went outside 
the house to hide the traces of it — probably to get 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 213 

rid of these boots and revolver, which he threw down 
the well.” 

'Tt hasn’t occurred to you, sergeant, that these 
things may have been placed in the well within the 
last few days in order that you might find them 
there?” said Crewe. 

“Who would place them there?” asked Gillett com- 
ing to the rescue of the sergeant with a poser. 

“I think you asked me just now what Miss May- 
nard was doing at the farm two days ago,” said Crewe. 

“And you think that there may be some con- 
nection between her visit there and these things?” 

“With all due deference to the sergeant as a judge 
of character, and particularly of the feminine char- 
acter, I am quite convinced that she has not told you 
everything.” 

“Can you tell us anything she is keeping back ?” 

“She is keeping back the real reason why she went 
to Cliff Farm on the night the body was taken 
there.” 

“You do not think she went there to shelter from 
the storm?” 

“She had an appointment there,” said Crewe. 

“With whom?” asked Gillett breathlessly. 

“With Brett — the man to whom she is engaged.” 

“What!” exclaimed Gillett. 

“Surely she explained to you the nature of her rela- 
tions with Brett?” said Crewe maliciously. “Except in 
regard to Marsland she does not seem to have taken 
you into her confidence at all.” 

“She may be playing a deep game,” said Gillett, 
in a tone which indicated that although an attempt 


214 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

might be made to hoodwink them, it was not likely 
to prove successful. 

‘T think you will find that she is a very clever 
young woman, was Crewe’s comment. 

“What was the nature of her appointment at Cliff 
Farm with Brett? Why not meet him at Ashlingsea 
or at Staveley?” asked Gillett. 

“As to the nature of the appointment, I will refer 
you for full details to Mrs. Grange. You know her, 
sergeant, of course?” Crewe said, turning to Westa- 
way. 

“The dwarf woman at Staveley?” asked the ser- 
geant. 

“Yes. If I am not much mistaken Grange and his 
wife were in the vicinity of Cliff Farm when the dead 
body of the owner was brought there. What part 
they played in the tragedy I must leave you to find 
out from them. I am not certain myself of their 
part, but I have a fairly clear idea. You can let 
me know what admission you get from them. Be- 
fore they admit anything it may be necessary to 
frighten them with arrest, Gillett. But I don’t sup- 
pose you mind doing that ?” 

“Not in the least,” replied Gillett with a smile that 
was free from embarrassment. “But what evidence 
can I produce to show that I know they know all 
about Miss Maynard’s presence at the farm? What 
evidence is there that this man and his wife were any- 
where in the neighbourhood of the place?” 

“They went over in the afternoon of October i6th 
in a motor-boat in charge of a boatman at Staveley, 
who is called Pedro, and wears a scarlet cloak. 
Murchison told me that Pedro is the father of Mrs. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 215 

Grange, the dwarf woman — they are Italians. But 
Grange, the husband, is an Englishman. He keeps a 
second-hand bookshop in Curzon Street, at Staveley, 
and lives over the shop with his wife. Is that not so, 
Westaway 

“Yes, sir. That is quite correct.’^ 

“They reached the landing-place at the foot of the 
cliffs, near the farm, before there was any appear- 
ance of the storm. The next morning, as I was de- 
scending the cliff by the secret path, I found an 
old felt hat on the rocks just before Pedro, who had 
come over in his boat to look for it, reached the place. 
My impression is that the hat belonged to Grange, and 
was blown off as he was descending the cliff by the path 
when the storm was abating. If it had been blown off 
in the afternoon, while he was ascending the cliff in 
daylight, he could have recovered it without much dif- 
ficulty. The fact that he left it behind indicates that it 
was blown off in the dark and that he was too excited 
and upset to hunt for it. But on reaching Staveley in 
Pedro’s boat, after the storm had abated, he began 
to think that his old hat was a dangerous object 
to leave about in the vicinity of a house where there 
was the body of a murdered man awaiting discovery by 
the police, so he sent Pedro back to the landing-place 
to recover the hat.” 

“But, hang it all, Crewe! Some of your reason- 
ing about the hat is merely surmise. You say it was 
blown off while Grange was descending the cliff path. 
How do you arrive at that conclusion? It might 
have been blown off at any time — while he was cross- 
ing to the farm, or standing on the cliffs,” 


2i6 the mystery of THE DOWNS 


“No,” replied Crewe. “The gale was blowing in 
from the sea, and if Grange’s hat had blown off while 
he was on the cliffs it would have blown inward — 
that is, across the downs.” 

Detective Gillett nodded. 

“I overlooked that point,” he said. “Have you pos- 
session of the hat now ?” 

“Yes. You can have it if you call for it at Sir 
George Granville’s, on your way to interview Grange 
this afternoon or to-morrow. But the Granges know 
that I have the hat. I went there with it just to con- 
vince myself that Grange did own it.” 

“Did he admit that it was his ?” 

“He denied it. But he is not a good hand at dis- 
simulation. I offered to hand over the hat to him 
in exchange for a truthful account of all he and his 
wife knew about the tragedy, but the offer was not 
entertained. They denied that they were there at 
all.” 

“I’ll soon get them to alter that tune!” exclaimed 
the resourceful Gillett. “I will put the screw on this 
man in the scarlet cloak until I squeeze something 
out of him.” 

“I am afraid you will have a slight difficulty in mak- 
ing Pedro reveal anything,” said Crewe. “He is deaf 
and dumb.” 

Gillett looked somewhat confused at finding that 
his impetuous confidence had carried him beyond his 
resources. 

“That is unfortunate,” he said. 

“It is of no consequence,” returned Crewe, “for you 
have evidence in your possession that Mrs. Grange 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 217 

was inside the farmhouse. The comb you found in 
the sitting-room downstairs belongs to her. When I 
went to see her she was wearing one exactly similar 
to it. Apparently she had two of them. And she 
does not know where she lost the one the police have, 
or she would not wear its fellow/’ 


CHAPTER XX 


Dinner was just over at Sir George Granville’s 
house, and Crewe, on hearing that Detective Gillett 
and Sergeant Westaway had called to see him, took 
them into the library at his host’s suggestion. 

‘T have seen Grange and his wife, and also Mrs. 
Penfield,” said Gillett. 

“And what did you get from them?” asked Crewe. 

“A great deal of interesting information — and most 
of it bearing out your theory, Mr. Crewe. I must 
say that this crime has more twists and turns than 
any I have ever had anything to do with.” 

‘T formed the impression some time ago that it 
was a complicated and interesting case,” said Crewe. 

“And I want to say, Mr. Crewe, that you have 
been a great help to us. If it wasn’t for you we 
shouldn’t have got on the right track so soon, should 
we, sergeant?” 

Sergeant Westaway, who was not very quick at 
arriving at conclusions, had discovered that Detective 
Gillett was generally ready to call him to official com- 
radeship in the mistakes that had been made, but less 
disposed to give him an equal share in any success 
achieved. He nodded in silent acquiescence with the 
admission that they owed something to Crewe. 

“And whom did you see first?” asked Crewe. 

“I went to the garage first to learn about the motor- 
318 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 219 

car Brett hired/’ said Gillett. 'T had a look at their 
books, and found that he had the car on Friday after- 
noon. Gosford will not only swear by his books, 
but he remembers quite distinctly that it was on Fri- 
day that Brett had the car. As he told you, the next 
thing he heard of it was that it was lying in the 
ditch about six miles away. He says Brett, when 
telephoning, said he was speaking from Lewes — but 
that is probably a lie. As Brett was making his es- 
cape ha would not be likely to say where he was. 
But I can easily find out from the telephone exchange 
where the call came from. It was a trunk call, and 
the only trunk call Gosford received that day, so 
there will be no difficulty in getting it from the 
records of the exchange. Then I went to Brett’s 
lodgings in Whitethorn Gardens. This woman, Mrs. 
Penfield, tried to bluff me — she said she was certain 
that Brett had left on Thursday, and that Gosford 
was mistaken in thinking Brett had the car on Fri- 
day. But, when I threatened to arrest her for be- 
ing an accessory, she broke down and admitted that 
Brett left her place after lunch on Friday to drive 
to Cliff Farm, and that she has not seen or heard of 
him since.” 

‘‘Not seen or heard of him?” echoed Crewe medi- 
tatively. 

“By this time I felt that I was getting on,” con- 
tinued Detective Gillett. 

Sergeant Westaway nodded to himself in sour de- 
pression at the deliberate exclusion of himself from 
the story of progress. 

“I next called at Grange’s shop. Westaway showed 
me the place,” 


220 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


exclaimed the sergeant, as if he were in 

pain. 

“I explained to Grange who I was, and he nearly 
fell through the floor with fright. I saw there would 
not be much difficulty in dealing with him. But the 
ugly little dwarf upstairs was a different proposition. 
She protested that she and her husband knew noth- 
ing about Cliff Farm, or what had happened there. 
Even when I produced the hat you gave me she 
would not give in. But when I produced the comb 
— it is exactly similar to the one she was wearing — 
it made an impression, and then when I followed that 
up with a threat to arrest them both ’’ 

''Ah,” interrupted Crewe with a smile, "that is 
where you Scotland Yard men have the advantage. 
And I must say that you don’t neglect to use it on 
every occasion. If I could only threaten people with 
arrest I should be able to surmount many of the 
difficulties which confront me from time to time.” 

"It is a good card,” admitted Detective Gillett, with 
the pride of a man who holds a strong hand which 
he has dealt himself. "It enabled me to get their 
story out of them, and a most interesting story it is.” 

"I thought it would be,” said Crewe. 

"The body was brought to the farm by Brett. 
Grange and his wife were in the house when he car- 
ried it upstairs.” 

"But did Brett know they were there?” asked 
Crewe. 

"He did not; he never suspected there was any- 
body in the house. They hid on the top floor.” 

“And they were there when Miss Maynard came 
after Brett had gone,” said Crewe, pursuing a train 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 221 


of thought. “They were there when Marsland and 
she went up to the first floor and discovered the body. 
It was Grange who knocked over the picture at the 
top of the staircase, and caused the noise which 
alarmed Marsland and Miss Maynard.'^ 

“Right,’’ said Gillett. “You seem to know the whole 
story : it is not worth while for me to go over it.” 

“Oh, yes it is. If you got the whole truth out of 
that little dwarf and her husband, you will be able 
to fill in for me some blanks in my reconstruction of 
the crime.” 

Detective Gillett was mollified by the assurance that 
he had in his possession some information which was 
new to Crewe, and he resumed his story with in- 
terest : 

“What do you think took the Granges over to the 
farm? It was to hold a seance there with the ob- 
ject of finding where old grandfather Lumsden had 
hidden his money. Young Lumsden had heard from 
Murchison something about the dwarf’s psychic pow- 
ers, and in company with Brett he went to see her. 
First of all they produced the cryptogram old Lums- 
den had left behind, and asked Grange if he knew 
anything about cryptograms or could get them a book 
on how to solve them. Grange couldn’t help them 
there, and from that the conversation turned to spir- 
itualism, and one of them — probably Brett — suggested 
that Mrs. Grange should try to solve the cryptogram 
by getting into communication with the spirit of old 
Lumsden and asking him where he had hidden the 
money. A splendid idea, don’t you think, Mr. Crewe ?” 

“Excellent!” 

“There is nothing in this spiritualistic business,” 


222 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


said Sergeant Westaway, with official certainty. ‘'No 
good ever comes of those who dabble in it — Tve seen 
cases of the kind at Ashlingsea. We had a sort of 
medium there once, but I managed to clear her out, 
after a lot of trouble.’^ 

“Once spiritualism gets into good working order 
there will be no work for police or detectives, ser- 
geant,” said Crewe. “The mediums will save all the 
trouble of collecting evidence.” 

“I don’t believe in it at all; it is nothing but fraud 
and deception,” returned Sergeant Westaway. 

“Here is the cryptogram,” said Detective Gillett. 

He held out to Crewe a sheet of paper which he 
took from his pocket-book. 

“A curious document!” said Crewe, examining it 
intently. 

“I got it from the dwarf woman,” said Gillett. “She 
had it hidden away in her sitting-room.” 

“I suppose she didn’t want to part with it?” 

“She did not. But when I threatened to arrest ” 

“Well, I can honestly congratulate you on getting 
it,” said Crewe. “I have been very anxious to see it. 
This is the cryptogram that Marsland found on the 
stairs, and subsequently disappeared from the house. 
Mrs. Grange secured it before she left the house, after 
the departure of Marsland and Miss Maynard.” 

“That is what I thought, but the dwarf says, ‘No.’ 
She says that this is the original cryptogram, and that 
she got it from young Lumsden in order to study it 
before holding a seance. Lumsden would not part 
with it until he had made a copy, in case anything 
happened to the original. Mrs. Grange took the 
original with her over to Cliff Farm, but it has never 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 223 




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224 the mystery of the downs 


been out of her possession since Lumsden gave it to 
her. She did not see the copy Lumsden made ; she did 
not see it at the house, and does not know what be- 
came of it. However, the copy is of no consequence.” 

'‘Oh, isn't it?” said Crewe. “I would like to know 
where it went. The cryptogram can be solved just 
as well from the copy as the original.” 

“It probably got blown away and destroyed,” said 
Detective Gillett. “There was a high wind that night.” 

“You might leave this with me for a day or two,” 
said Crewe, looking at the cryptogram earnestly. “I 
take an interest in cryptograms.” 

“You must take great care of it,” Detective Gil- 
lett replied. “I shall want to produce it as evidence 
at the trial.” 

“When you get Brett?” 

“Yes. And now let us get back to my story. It 
was arranged that a seance should be held at the farm 
on Friday, October i6th.” 

“Who was to be there?” asked Crewe. 

“Grange and his wife, Lumsden, Brett and Miss 
Maynard. This young lady has been playing a deep 
game, as you suggested. I will settle with her to- 
morrow.” 

“And this man, Tom Jauncey, who was shot in the 
arm, wasn’t he one of the party?” 

“No.” 

“I thought he might be there to represent the un- 
paid legatees,” said Crewe. 

“I have no doubt that he knew about the seance — that 
he had heard Brett and Miss Maynard talking about 
it. Brett was in the habit of visiting the young lady 
at her home. No doubt Jauncey went out to the farm 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 225 

in order to learn what happened, and see if the money 
was found/’ 

‘That is much more likely than that he went there 
to dig in the garden.” 

“Let me reconstruct the crime for you, Mr. Crewe. 
I have got all the threads,” said Detective Gillett 
eagerly. “The seance was to take place at 6 p. m. 
on Friday. The dwarf and her husband went over to 
the place in the afternoon in the motor-boat belonging 
to old Pedro. They climbed the cliff, and on reach- 
ing the farm found that there was no one about, 
but that the front door was not locked. Lums- 
den had gone for a walk along the Staveley road 
to meet Brett, who was to motor over, and he 
had left the door unlocked, so that, if any of his 
guests arrived during his absence, they could enter 
the house and make themselves at home. He was 
not afraid of thieves going there, for very few peo- 
ple travel along that road on foot. That was the 
arrangement he had made with the Granges. 

“They entered the house, and had a look round the 
old place. No doubt it occurred to them that if they 
were thoroughly acquainted with the rooms, and all 
the nooks and crannies, they would be able to give a 
more impressive seance. And perhaps they had an 
idea that in searching round they might find the money 
without the assistance of the former owner’s spirit, in 
which case, I have no doubt, they would have helped 
themselves. They had reached the house about 5 
o’clock, and they had not been there half an hour 
before the storm began to burst, and it got dark. 

“It was probably the noise of the rising wind which 
prevented them hearing Brett’s motor-car, and the 


226 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


first intimation they had that any one had arrived 
was hearing the front door open. They had closed 
it when they entered the house, their object being 
to examine the rooms undisturbed. Brett, thinking 
there was no one in the house, opened the door with 
Lumsden’s key. The Granges who were on the top 
floor did not call out to him, as they had no satis- 
factory explanation to offer for exploring the house. 
They saw Brett staggering up the stairs carrying 
something on his left shoulder. At first they could 
not make out what it was, as it was dark inside the 
house. Half-way up the stairs Brett came to a halt 
to shift his burden, and he turned on an electric 
torch in order to see where he was. By the light 
of the torch the Granges saw that Brett was carry- 
ing the body of a man. They thought at first that 
Lumsden had been injured in an accident to the 
motor-car, but the fact that they heard no voices 
subsequently — that Brett did not speak aloud — con- 
vinces me that you were right, and that Lumsden was 
dead. 

“Brett entered the room on the left of the stairs on 
the first floor, and was there some minutes — probably 
getting Lumsden’s pocket-book, and disarranging the 
papers it contained in the way we saw. Then he went 
downstairs, and a few moments later the little dwarf, 
who was leaning over the staircase, saw him moving 
about below, with the torch in one hand and a bucket 
in the other. He began washing away the stains of 
blood in the hall, and on the staircase. He came up 
the stairs one by one with his bucket and torch, search- 
ing for blood-stains, and swabbing them with the 
cloth whenever he found them. After cleaning the 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 227 

stairs and landing in this way, he went downstairs 
with the bucket. A minute later he came back to 
the room which he had first entered, and immediately 
afterwards they heard a shot. This was the shot 
fired through the window. No doubt the bullet hit the 
cherry-tree, and then struck Jauncey in the arm. It 
seems a strange thing that Jauncey knew nothing about 
the motor-car at the gate. But of course it had no 
lights, and Jauncey, intent on spying, did not go up 
to the front gate to enter the garden. He must have 
got through the hedge lower down, and made his way 
across the home field. I must see him about this and 
ask him. 

“After firing the shot Brett went downstairs again, 
and the Granges saw no more of him,” continued 
Detective Gillett. “No doubt Brett found Lumsden's 
boots in the kitchen, as you said, and after putting 
them on forced the window downstairs and climbed 
out. He got into his car and drove off without lights, 
being very thankful to get away without any one see- 
ing him — as he thought. 

“The Granges did not know he had gone, and while 
they were quaking upstairs, wondering what to do, the 
front door was opened again and there was a light 
step in the hall. This was Miss Maynard. She had 
found the key in the lock which Brett had left there. 
By this time the storm had reached the farm. There 
was a high wind with heavy drops of rain. Miss May- 
nard, unconscious that there was a dead man upstairs, 
and Grange and his wife on the floor above, lighted 
the candle on the hallstand, and then took it into 
the sitting-room, where Brett had got out of the house. 
She sat down to wait for the appearance of Brett 


228 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


and Lumsden. No doubt the fact that she had found 
the key in the door convinced her that they were in 
the outbuildings. According to the Granges’ story, 
Miss Maynard arrived less than ten minutes after 
Brett’s final trip downstairs, and about a quarter of 
an hour after her arrival there came a knock at the 
front door. This was Captain Marsland. 

“The rest of the story we know, from Captain Mars- 
land’s statement to Westaway, the only thing that is 
wrong with it being his omission of all mention of 
Miss Maynard. Grange, bending over the stairs to 
watch, knocked down the picture that made such a 
crash. When Captain Marsland and Miss Maynard 
found the body, she knew immediately that Brett must 
have had something to do with the tragedy, and there- 
fore she asked Captain Marsland to say nothing about 
her presence there. If he had done so she would 
have had to give us an account of her movements, and 
the object of her visit there, and all this would have 
directed suspicion to Brett. 

“Not till half an hour after Grange and his wife 
heard the door close, when Captain Marsland ana Miss 
Maynard departed, did they venture downstairs. They 
looked in at the room in which the body had been 
taken, and by the light of matches they saw the dead 
man in the chair. They got away from the house 
as fast as they could. They found the path down the 
cliff, and while Grange was helping his wife down 
it his hat blew off. He thought nothing of this at the 
time. In the old boat-house at the foot of the cliff 
they found Pedro, who had been sheltering there from 
the storm. They waited in the boat-house until the 
storm abated, and about nine o’clock they pushed off 


THE MYSTERY OE THE DOWNS 229 

in the boat for Staveley, which they were unable to 
reach until nearly midnight, owing to the rough sea 
running. 

“They decided to say nothing about what they knew, 
their intention being to keep out of the whole affair. 
They were afraid that they would be worried a great 
deal by the police if they said anything, and they were 
still more afraid that the fact that they had been con- 
nected with a murder would ruin their business. In 
the morning old Pedro was sent over to the landing- 
place to find the hat Grange had lost.” 

“A very interesting story,” said Crewe. 

“It is,” said Gillett with pride in his success as a 
narrator. “And it won’t lose much in dramatic in- 
terest when it is unfolded in evidence at the trial. In 
fact, I think it will gain in interest. What a shock 
it will be to Brett when he finds that he was seen 
carrying the body of Lumsden upstairs!” 

“You are convinced that Brett was the murderer?” 
asked Crewe. 

“Absolutely certain. Aren’t you ?” 

“No.” 

Detective Gillett stared in surprise at the inscrutable 
face of the man whose powers of deduction he had 
learned to look on with admiring awe. Sergeant West- 
away, whose legs had become cramped owing to his 
uncomfortable attitude in a low chair, shifted his 
position uneasily, and also looked intently at Crewe. 

“Then whom do you suspect?” exclaimed Gillett in 
astonishment. 

“Suspect?” said Crewe with a slight note of pro- 
test in his voice. “I suspect no one. Suspicions in 
regard to this, that and the other merely cloud the 


230 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

view. Let us look at the facts and see what they 
prove.” 

'T don’t think you want better proof of murder 
than that the man who was seen carrying the body 
of the murdered man subsequently disappears, in order 
to escape being questioned by the police.” 

“It looks what you call suspicious,” said Crewe, “but 
it is not proof. You assume that Brett is the mur- 
derer, but you do not know any of the circumstances 
under which the crime was committed.” 

“Lumsden was walking along the road to meet 
Brett. They did meet, and in discussing this seance 
they quarrelled about the division of the money.” 

“But why quarrel about dividing the money before 
the money was found? They already had had some 
disappointments about finding the money.” 

“They may have quarrelled about something else. 
But why did Brett disappear, and why did he take 
the body to the farm and endeavour to manufacture 
misleading clues ?” 

“I admit that his conduct is suspicious — that it is 
difficult to account for. But if he is guilty — if he shot 
Lumsden on the road or when they were driving along 
the road — why did he take the body to the farm 
where it was sure to be discovered, as he knew the 
Granges were to get there by 6 p. m? Wouldn’t it 
have been better for him to hide the body in a field 
or a ditch? That would have given him more time 
to escape.” 

“He took the body to the farm for the purpose of 
making us believe that the murder was committed 
there,” rejoined Gillett slowly and positively. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 231 

‘‘And then disappeared in order to direct the po- 
lice suspicions to himself/' said Crewe. 

“No doubt he was inconsistent/' Gillett admitted. 
“But a murderer manufacturing false clues would 
scarcely be in the frame of mind to think out every- 
thing beforehand. The object of leaving false clues 
was to get sufficient time to escape. Surely, Mr. 
Crewe, you are not going to say that you believe Brett 
had nothing to do with the murder — that he is an inno- 
cent man ?" 

“I believe that he knows more about the crime than 
you or I, and that he disappeared in order to escape 
being placed in a position in which he would have 
to tell most of what he knows." 

“And another person who knows a great deal about 
the crime is Miss Maynard," said Gillett. 

“Yes. I think you have some awkward questions 
to ask her." 

“I have,'’ replied the Scotland Yard representative 
emphatically. 

“You might ask her where she got Marsland's eye- 
glasses that she dropped down the well. The boots 
and revolver she got from Brett — or perhaps Brett 
dropped them there himself on the night of the mur- 
der. But the eyeglasses are a different thing." 

“She may have picked them up in the house, or 
along the garden path. I understand that Captain 
Marsland lost a pair of glasses that night." 

“He did, but not the pair that were found in the 
well. The pair that he lost that night he has not 
found, but the pair you found in the well were in his 
possession for nearly a week after the murder. He 


232 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

is quite sure on that point, but does not know where 
he lost them.’^ 

“Of course, he knows that it was Miss Maynard 
who tried to direct our suspicions to him?” asked 
Gillett. 

“I told him very little, and what I did tell him was 
for the purpose of satisfying him on a few minor 
points. That was implied in my promise to you. But 
he asked about her before I had mentioned her name. 
He asked if you had seen her.” 

“And I suppose he was very indignant with her ?” 

“No. He took it all very calmly. His calmness, his 
indifference, struck me as remarkable in one who has 
suffered from nervous shock.” 

“I would like to apologize to him if he is any- 
where about — if it is not too much trouble to send 
for him.” 

“Not at all,” said Crewe. He touched the bell, and 
when the parlour maid appeared, he sent her in search 
of Captain Marsland. 

The young man entered the room a few minutes 
later in evening dress, and nodded cheerfully to the 
two police officials. He listened with a forgiving 
smile to Detective Gillett’s halting apology for having 
believed that he had endeavoured to mislead the po- 
lice in the statement made to Sergeant Westaway on 
the night of the murder. 

“Miss Maynard will find that she has over-reached 
herself,” said Gillett to the young man in conclu- 
sion. “I will look her up in the morning and frighten 
the truth out of her. She knows more about the 
crime than any one — except Brett. As far as I can 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 233 

see she will be lucky if she escapes arrest as an ac- 
complice.” 

‘‘Have you ever considered, Gillett, the possibility 
of her having been the principal?” asked Crewe. 

“No,” said the detective, who obviously was sur- 
prised at the suggestion. “Do you think that she 
fired the shot; that she and Brett are both in it?” 

“She fits into the tragedy in a remarkable way — she 
fits into the story told by the Granges.” 

“Yes,” said the detective doubtfully. “She does.” 

“Let us attempt to reconstruct the crime with her 
as the person who fired the shot,” continued Crewe. 
“Mrs. Grange was to hold a seance at the farmhouse 
about 6 p. m. Lumsden, Brett and this girl were to 
be present. Lumsden walked along the road to 
Staveley in the expectation of meeting Brett, who 
was to drive over in a motor car. Miss Maynard, 
who was a good walker, set out from Ashlingsea. 
She left early in the afternoon, in the expectation 
that Brett would be at the farmhouse early. She found 
no one there and then set out along the Staveley road 
to meet Brett. He was late in starting from Staveley, 
and she met Lumsden, who, perhaps, was returning 
along the road. They decided to sit down for a little 
while and wait for Brett. Lumsden, who was in love 
with her, was overcome by passion, and seized her in 
his arms. There was a struggle in which the revolver 
that Lumsden carried fell out of his belt. She picked 
it up and in desperation shot him. A few minutes later 
Brett arrived in his car. He was horrified at what 
had occurred but his first thought was to save the 
girl he loved from the consequences of her act. He 
lifted the body of Lumsden into the car, and with Miss 


234 the mystery OF THE DOWNS 

Maynard beside him on the front seat, drove to the 
farmhouse. She waited in the car while he carried 
the body into the house, and took steps for giving the 
impression that Lufnsden was shot by some one who 
broke into the house. Then he went back to the car, 
and after giving the girl his final directions bade her 
a tender farewell. She entered the house and waited 
in accordance with the plan Brett had thought out. 
She expected the Granges to arrive at any moment; 
she did not know they were hiding upstairs. Brett’s 
plan was that she and the Granges should discover 
the body. That would clear her of suspicion of com- 
plicity in the tragedy. Marsland came to the house, 
and for Miss Maynard’s purpose he suited her bet- 
ter than the Granges because he took on himself the 
discovery of the body and, at her request, kept her 
name out of it to the police. Brett disappeared that 
night, ostensibly on secret service work. His object 
was to shield his fiancee by directing suspicion to him- 
self.” 

‘T don’t think Brett is capable of such chivalry,’' 
said Marsland. 

“It is a very ingenious theory, very ingenious, in- 
deed,” said Gillett. “I don’t say that it is absolutely 
correct, Mr. Crewe, but the reconstruction is very 
clever. What do you say, Westaway?” 

“Very ingenious — very clever,” said the Sergeant. 
“Only it is no good asking me to believe that Miss 
Maynard did it; I could never bring myself to be- 
lieve that she was capable of it. I have known her 
since she was a litle girl. She is the daughter of a 
highly respected •” 

“We know all about that,” said Gillett impatiently. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 235 

“But lots of highly respectable people commit mur- 
der, Westaway. Even among the criminal classes 
there are no professional murderers. I’ll see this 
young lady in the morning, Mr. Crewe, and let you 
know the result. I think I can promise that I’ll 
shake the truth out of her.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


Detective Gillett cycled across to Ashlingsea the 
following morning, after spending the night in Staveley 
as the guest of Inspector Murchison. The morning 
was clear, the downs were fresh and green beneath a 
blue sky, and the sea lapped gently at the foot of the 
cliffs. In the bay the white sails of several small boats 
stood out against the misty horizon. But Detective Gil- 
lett saw none of these things. His mind was too busily 
engaged in turning over the latest aspects of the Cliff 
Farm case to be susceptible to the influences of na- 
ture. 

He reached Ashlingsea after an hour's ride and de- 
cided to call on Miss Maynard before going to the 
police station. The old stone house and its grounds 
lay still and clear in the morning sun. The carriage 
gates were open and Gillett cycled up the winding 
gravel drive. The house looked silent and deserted, 
but the shutters which protected the front windows 
were unclosed, and a large white peacock strutting on 
the lawn in front of the house uttered harsh cries at 
the sight of the man on a bicycle. 

The bird’s cries brought a rosy-cheeked maidservant 
to the front door, who stared curiously at Gillett as 
he jumped off his bicycle and approached her. A re- 
quest for Miss Maynard brought a doubtful shake of 
the head from the girl, so Gillett produced his card 
and asked her to take it to her mistress. The girl 
236 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 237 

took the card, and shortly returned with the announce- 
ment that Mrs. Maynard would see him. She ushered 
him into a large, handsomely furnished room and 
left him. 

A few minutes afterwards Gillett heard the sound 
of tapping in the hall outside the door. Then the 
door was opened by the maid who had admitted Gil- 
lett, and he saw an elderly lady, with refined features 
and grey hair, looking at him with haughty dark eyes. 
She was leaning on an ebony stick, and as she advanced 
into the room the detective saw that she was lame. 

“I wanted to see Miss Maynard,” said Gillett, mak- 
ing the best bow of which he was capable. 

'‘You cannot see my daughter.” She uttered the 
words in such a manner as to give Gillett the impres- 
sion that she was speaking to somebody some distance 
away. 

“Why not?” 

“She is not at home.” 

“Where is she?” 

“That I cannot tell you.” 

“When will she return?” 

“I do not know.” 

“But, madam, I must know,” replied Gillett. 
“Your daughter has placed herself in a very serious 
position by the statement she made to the police con- 
cerning the Cliff Farm murder, and it is important that 
I should see her at once. Where is she ?” 

“I decline to tell you.” 

“You are behaving very foolishly, madam, in taking 
this course. Surely you do not think she can evade 
me by hiding from me. If that is her attitude I will 
deal with it by taking out a warrant for her arrest.” 


238 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

‘T must decline to discuss the matter any further 
with you.’’ 

Mrs. Maynard moved towards the bell as she spoke, 
as though she would ring for a servant to show the 
detective out of the house. Gillett, seeing that further 
argument was useless, did not wait for the servant to 
be summoned, but left the room without another 
word. 

He rode down to the Ashlingsea police station, with 
an uneasy feeling that his plans for the capture of 
Brett were not destined to work out as smoothly as he 
had hoped. It had seemed to him a simple matter 
then to see Miss Maynard in the morning, “frighten 
the truth out of her,” ascertain from her where her 
lover was hiding, and have him arrested as quickly as 
the telegraph wires could apprise the police in the 
particular locality he had chosen for his retreat. But 
he had overlooked the possibility of the hitch he had 
just encountered. Obviously the girl, in finding that 
Marsland had not been arrested, had begun to think 
that her plans had miscarried and had therefore de- 
cided to evade making any further statement to the 
police as long as she cbuld. 

Gillett was hopeful that Sergeant Westaway, with 
his local knowledge, would be able to tell him where 
she was likely to seek seclusion in order to escape being 
questioned. 

He had not conceived the possibility of Miss May- 
nard having taken fright and disappeared from the 
town, because he deemed it impossible that she could 
have known that he was aware how she had tried 
to hoodwink the police. Yet that was the news that 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 239 

Sergeant Westaway conveyed to him when he men- 
tioned the young lady’s name. 

‘‘She left Ashlingsea by the last train from here 
last night — the 9.30 to Staveley, which connects with 
the last train to London.” 

“What!” exclaimed the detective. “Do you mean 
to tell me you’ve let the girl slip out of your hands? 
Why the blazes didn’t you stop her from going?’* 

“How was I to stop her?” replied the sergeant, in 
resentment at the imperative tone in which the de- 
tective spoke. “I didn’t get home from Staveley last 
night until nearly ten o’clock and after looking in here 
I went straight to bed. The station-master told me 
about an hour ago that she had gone. She came along 
just before the train started, and he put her in a car- 
riage himself. He thought it a bit strange, so he 
mentioned it to me when I was down on the station 
this morning. I rang up Inspector Murchison in order 
to let you know, but he told me you’d left for here.” 

“She’s gone to warn Brett — she’s in London by 
now,” said Gillett. “The question is how did she get 
to know that I was coming over to see her this morn- 
ing and expose the tissue of lies in her statement to 
you. How did she get to know that the game was up ? 
You’ve said nothing to anybody, Westaway, about the 
conversation that took place last night at Sir George 
Granville’s house?” 

“Of course I’ve said nothing,” replied Sergeant 
Westaway. “She had gone almost before I got back 
here last night.” 

“It beats me,” said Gillett. “Who could have 
warned her ?” 

He picked up the telephone book off the office table. 


240 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

and turned its leaves hurriedly. When he had found 
the number he wanted he took up the telephone and 
spoke into the receiver. 

“Double one eight Staveley, and be quick. Is that 
Sir George Granville’s? Is Mr. Crewe in? Yes, at 
once please. Is that you, Mr. Crewe? It’s Gillett 
speaking. The girl has gone — cleared out. I cannot 
say : I’ve no idea. What’s that you say? Oh, yes. I’ll 
telephone to Scotland Yard and tell them to keep a 
look out for her, but I am afraid it won’t be of much 
use — she’s had too long a start. But it’s now more 
necessary than ever that we should act quickly if we 
hope to lay our hands on the man. I think the first 
thing to be done is to make a thorough search of the 
cliif road for the actual spot where the job was done. 
Oh, you have? By Jove, that’s good! I’d be glad if 
you’d come with me then, because it’s on your theory 
that it was done away from the house that I’m work- 
ing 

Police Constable Heather entered the office at this 
point with a message for his superior officer. Sergeant 
Westaway, divided by anxiety to hear the telephone 
conversation and a determination that his subordinate 
should not hear it, imperiously motioned Constable 
Heather away. But as Constable Heather misunder- 
stood the motion and showed no inclination to depart, 
Sergeant Westaway hurriedly led him out of the of- 
fice into the front garden, heard what he had to say, 
and dismissed him with the mandate that he was on 
no account to be interrupted again. He then returned 
to the office, but the telephone conversation was fin- 
ished, and Detective Gillett was seated in the ser- 
geant’s office chair, looking over a document which 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 241 

Sergeant Westaway recognized as Miss Maynard’s 
statement. 

“Crewe’s going to drive us along the cliff road this 
afternoon to see if we can locate the spot where Lums- 
den was shot,” said the detective, restoring Miss 
Maynard’s statement to his pocket-book and look- 
ing up. “I’ve arranged to meet him the other side 
of the cutting at the top of the farm, and we will drive 
back along the road in his car.” 

“Did Mr. Crewe express any opinion as to who — 
who had warned Miss Maynard to take to flight?”’ 
asked Sergeant Westaway eagerly. 

“That was not a matter for discussion through the 
telephone,” responded Gillett curtly. “I’ll talk it over 
with him this afternoon. I’ll call for you here, at two 
o’clock. I’ve several things to do in the meantime.’' 

They met again at the appointed hour and cycled 
along as far as Cliff Farm, where they put up their 
bicycles. Then they walked up the hill from the 
farm. At the end of the cutting, they saw Crewe’s big 
white car, stationary, and Crewe and Marsland stand- 
ing on the greensward smoking cigars. The two po- 
lice officers advanced to meet them. 

“It’s a bit of very bad luck about this girl disappear- 
ing, Mr. Crewe,” said Gillett. “What do you make 
of it? Westaway thinks she may have gone to stay 
with friends at Staveley, and that her departure at 
this juncture is merely a coincidence.’' 

“Miss Maynard would not pay a visit to friends by 
the last train at night,” said Crewe. 

“Then somebody warned her that the game was up 
and that safety lay in flight.” 

“I’m afraid that’s the only reasonable explanation 


242 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

for her disappearance/’ replied Crewe. “But who 
warned her?” 

“That’s the point !” exclaimed Gillett. “I have been 
thinking it over ever since 1 discovered she had gone, 
and I’ve come to the conclusion that it must have been 
that infernal little dwarf or her husband, though what 
is their object is by no means clear. Who else could it 
have been? The only other people who know that I 
intended to unmask her are yourself, Westaway and 
Mr. Marsland. By a process of elimination suspicion 
points to the Granges.” 

Crewe did not reply. While Gillett was speaking a 
flash of that inspiration which occasionally came to him 
when he was groping in the dark for light revealed 
to him the key by which the jigsaw of clues, incidents, 
hints, suspicions, and evidence in the Cliff Farm mur- 
der could be pieced together. But the problem was 
one of extraordinary intricacy, and he needed time to 
see if all the pieces would fit into the pattern. 

It was at Detective Gillett’s suggestion that they 
walked up to the top of the hill, to the headland where 
Marsland’s horse had taken fright on the night of the 
storm. 

He took Crewe’s arm and walked ahead with him, 
leaving the sergeant to follow with Marsland. As 
they went along, he unconsciously revealed the extent 
of his dependence on Crewe’s stronger intelligence by 
laying before him the remaining difficulties regarding 
the case. His chief concern was lest Miss Maynard 
should warn Brett in time to enable him to slip 
through the net which had been woven for him. To 
Crewe’s inquiry whether the London police had come 
across any trace of him he shook his head. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 243 

‘^No, he is lying low, wherever he is. My own be- 
lief is that he has not gone to London, but that he is 
hidden somewhere in the Staveley district. I shall 
look for him here, and Scotland Yard is watching his 
London haunts. He’s a pretty bad egg, you know. 
We’ve a record of him at Scotland Yard.” 

‘‘What has he done ?” 

“He’s identical with a fashionable rogue and swind- 
ler who, under the name of Delancey, kept a night club 
and a gambling hell in Piccadilly, during the first year 
of the war. We had reasons for closing the place 
without a prosecution, and Delancey, instead of being 
sent to gaol, was allowed to enlist. He returned to 
England a few months ago, invalided out of the army, 
where he was known under the name of Powell. Since 
then he has been employed by the Government in 
secret service work: mixing with the Germans who 
are still at large in this country, and getting informa- 
tion about German spies. He was given this work to 
do because he speaks German so fluently that he can 
pass as a German amongst Germans. 

“I suppose this girl Maynard will try to join him 
wherever he is,” resumed Gillett, after a pause. “It’s 
a queer thing, don’t you think, for a well-brought-up 
English girl of good family to make such a fool of 
herself over an unmitigated scoundrel like Delancey or 
Brett, or Powell, or whatever he calls himself? From 
what I have learnt up at Staveley this girl first met 
Brett about three months ago. I do not know how they 
came to know each other, but from her visit to Cliff 
Farm on the night of the murder I think that Lumsden 
must have introduced, them. There was some bond be- 
tween Brett and Lumsden which I have been unable to 


244 the mystery OF THE DOWNS 

fathom. It is true they knew each other through being 
in the army together, but that fact doesn’t account for 
their continued association afterwards, because there 
was nothing in common between the two men: Brett 
was a double-dyed scoundrel, and Lumsden was a 
simple, quiet sort of chap. 

'Tt may have been the attraction of opposites, or, 
it is more likely that Lumsden knew nothing about 
Brett’s past,” continued Gillett. “Brett was certainly 
not likely to reveal it, more especially after he met the 
girl, because then he would keep up his friendship with 
Lumsden in order to have opportunities of meeting her 
at Cliff Farm. She also used to visit Brett at Staveley ; 
they’ve been seen together there several times. Ap- 
parently it was Brett’s idea to keep his meetings with 
this girl as secret as possible, and for that reason he 
used to see her at Cliff Farm with Lumsden’s con- 
nivance. Nevertheless, he was not altogether success- 
ful in keeping his love affair dark. On two occasions 
he was seen walking with the girl on Ashlingsea downs, 
not far from her mother’s house, and there’s been 
some local gossip in consequence — you know what 
these small country places are for gossip.” 

“You’ve put this part of the case together very 
well,” said Crewe. 

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Gillett laughed complacently. 
“Of course it was Scotland Yard that fished up all 
that about Brett’s antecedents. I flatter myself that 
we do that kind of thing better in London than any- 
where: it’s difficult for a man to get rid of a shady 
past in England. However, I’d be more satisfied with 
my work if I had Brett under lock and key. What a 
fool I was not to go straight across to that girl’s house 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 245 

last night after I saw you, instead of waiting till the 
morning !’’ 

“It wouldn’t have made much difference: I think 
she was warned by telephone, and probably the per- 
son who warned her knew you did not intend to look 
her up until the morning. If you had altered your 
plans she would have altered hers.” 

“I could have telephoned to have her stopped at 
Victoria or London Bridge.” 

“Not much use,” responded Crewe, with a shake of 
the head. “She wouldn’t have revealed Brett’s hid- 
ing-place.” 

“I’d have kept her under lock and key to prevent 
her warning him,” said Gillett viciously. 

“Quite useless. Her detention would have been no- 
tified in the press. Brett would have taken warning 
and disappeared. By the way, Gillett, I’ll be glad if 
you will refrain from referring to the doubt I formerly 
expressed about Brett’s guilt. And I must ask West- 
away to do the same.” 

“I thought you’d come round to my way of think- 
ing,” said Gillett. “It was plain to me that it couldn’t 
be anyone but Brett. However, you can rest assured 
I won’t try to rub it in. We all make mistakes at this 
game, but some don’t care to acknowledge a mistake 
as candidly as you have, done, Mr. Crewe.” 

The cliffs rose to a height of three hundred feet at 
this part of the road, and a piece of headland jutted 
out a hundred yards or so into the sea — a narrow strip, 
of crumbling sandstone rock, running almost to a 
point, with sea-worn sides, dropping perpendicularly to 
the deep water below. Just past the headland, on the 
Staveley side, the road ran along the edge of the cliffs 


246 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

for some distance, the side nearest to the sea being pro- 
tected by a low fence, and flanked by “Danger” notices 
at each end. Crewe pointed out the danger post which 
had been knocked out of the perpendicular — it was the 
one nearest to the headland. 

Detective Gillett examined it very closely, and when 
Marsland and the Sergeant joined them he asked Mars- 
land if he could point out to him the exact spot where 
his horse had taken fright on the night of the storm. 

“I think it was somewhere about here, Crewe? 
It was about here we saw the hoofmarks, wasn’t it?” 

Crewe measured the distance with a rule he had 
brought with him from the motor-car. 

“A trifle more to this way — about here,” he said at 
length. 

Gillett glanced over the edge of the cliff, and at the 
white water breaking over the jagged tooth-pointed 
rocks nearly three hundred feet below. 

“By Jove, you can congratulate yourself that you 
happened to be on the right side of the road,” he 
said, addressing himself to Marsland. “If you’d gone 
over there, you wouldn’t have stood much chance.” 

“It was purely good fortune, or my horse’s instinct,” 
laughed Marsland. “The road was so dark that I 
didn’t know where I was myself. I couldn’t see a 
hand’s turn in front of me.” 

“The marks of the car wheels ran off the road at 
this point, bumped into the post, and then ran on to the 
road again.” Crewe traced the course with his stick. 
“Brett had a narrower escape than Marsland. It’s a 
wonder that the impact didn’t knock away that crazy 
bit of fencing.” 

“When Brett is on his trial it will be necessary for 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 247 

the jury to visit this spot,” said Sergeant Westaway 
solemnly. 

“We’ve got to catch the beggar first,” grumbled Gil- 
lett. “But let’s get along and see if we can hit upon 
the spot where the murder was actually committed. 
How far along is it, Mr. Crewe, to where the country- 
man you talked to saw him pass ?” 

“A little more than five miles from here.” 

“Then somewhere between the two places the mur- 
der must have been committed, I should say.” 

“I know the place — approximately,” replied Crewe, 
“I’ve been over the ground several times, and I’ve been 
able to fix on it more or less definitely.” 

“How did you fix it ?” asked Gillett curiously. 

“I had several clues to help me,” replied Crewe, in a 
non-committal voice. “Let us get back to the car and 
I will drive you to the place.” 

They walked back to the car and drove slowly along 
the winding cliff road. About two miles from the 
danger post the road turned slightly inland, and ran 
for a quarter of a mile or more about two hundred 
yards distant from the edge of the cliff. At this point 
the downs began to rise above the level of the road, and 
continued to do so until they were above the heads of 
the party in the car. It was not a cutting; merely a 
steep natural inclination of the land, and the road 
skirted the foot of it for some distance. A ragged 
fringe of beech-trees grew along the top of the bank ; 
doubtless they had been planted in this bare exposed 
position of the downs to act as a wind screen for the 
sheep which could be seen grazing higher up the slope. | 

Crewe pulled up the car and looked about him, then 
turned his head and spoke to Gillett ; 


248 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

‘This part of the road is worth examining. There 
are several features about it which fit in with my con- 
ception of the scene of the crime.’^ 

The four men got out of the car and walked for- 
ward, looking about them. Crewe walked a little 
ahead, with his eyes roving over the rising bank and 
the trees at the top. Several times he tried to clamber 
up the bank, but the incline was too steep. 

“What are you trying to do said Gillett, who was 
watching his proceedings curiously. 

“I am trying to fit in my theory of the crime by 
actual experiments. If I can satisfy myself that 
Lumsden was able to climb this bank at some point 
I believe we shall have reached the scene of the mur- 
der/’ 

“But why is it necessary to prove that?” asked Gil- 
lett, in a puzzled voice. “Brett might have met him 
on the road, shot him from the car which had been 
pulled up, and then carried the body to Cliff Farm.” 

“My dear Gillett, have you forgotten that the bullet 
which killed Lumsden took an upward course after en- 
tering the body? If he had been shot from the car it 
would have gone downwards.” 

“Damn it ! I forgot all about that point,” exclaimed 
Gillett, reddening with vexation. 

“Lumsden couldn’t have been shot on the road, 
either, because in that case the bullet would have gone 
straight through him — unless the man who fired the 
shot knelt down in the road and fired upwards at him, 
which is not at all likely. Furthermore, Lumsden was 
shot in the back low down, and the bullet travelled up- 
wards and came out above the heart. Therefore we’ve 
got to try and visualize a scene which fits in with these 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 249 

circumstances. That’s why I have been looking at this 
bank so carefully. Let us suppose that Lumsden was 
walking along the road and encountered his would-be 
slayer. Lumsden saw the revolver, and turned to run. 
He thought his best chance of escape w^as across the 
downs, so he dashed towards the bank and sprang up 
it. He had almost reached the top when the shot was 
fired. That seems to me the most possible way of ac- 
counting for the upward course of the bullet.” 

‘T see,” said Gillett, nodding his head. ‘"Brett might 
have fired from his seat in his car, in that case.” 

“Precisely,” returned Crewe. “But the weak point 
in my argument is that so far we have not reached a 
point in the bank which is capable of being scaled.” 

“A little further along it narrows and is less steep,” 
said Marsland, who had been listening intently to 
Crewe’s remarks. “Come, and I will show you.” 

He led the way round the next bend of the road, and 
pointed out a spot where the branches of the trees 
which formed the wind screen hung down over the 
slope, which was much less steep. It was a compara- 
tively easy matter to scramble up the bank at this 
point, and pull oneself up on to the downs by the aid 
of the overhanging branches. 

Crewe made the experiment, and reached the top, 
without difficulty; so did Gillett. Marsland and Ser- 
geant Westaway remained standing in the road below, 
watching the proceedings. 

The downs from the top of the bank swept gradu- 
ally upwards to the highest point of that part of the 
coast : a landmark known as the Giants’ Knoll, a lofty 
hill surrounded by a ring of dark fir-trees, which gave 
the bald summit the appearance of a monk’s tonsure.. 


250 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

This hill commanded an extensive view of the Channel 
and the surrounding country-side on a clear day. But 
Detective Gillett was not interested in the Giant^s 
Knoll. He was busily engaged examining the brush- 
wood and dwarf trees forming the wind screen at the 
point where they had scrambled up. Suddenly he 
turned and beckoned to Crewe with an air of some 
excitement. 

“Look here !” he said, as Crewe approached. “This 
seems to bear out your theory.” He pointed to the 
branch of a stunted beech-tree, which had been torn 
away from the parent trunk, but still hung to it, with- 
ered and lifeless, attached by a strip of bark. 

“If Brett shot Lumsden as he was scrambling up the 
bank, Lumsden might easily have torn this branch off 
in his dying struggle — the instinct to clutch at some- 
thing — as he fell back into the road.” 

“It’s possible, but it’s not a very convincing clue by 
itself,” returned Crewe. “It might just as easily have 
been torn off by the violence of the storm. The thing 
is to follow it up. If Lumsden was shot at this point 
the bullet which went through him may have lodged 
in one of the trees.” 

Gillett had begun to search among the scattered trees 
at the top of the bank very much like an intelligent 
pointer hunting for game. He examined each tree 
closely from the bole upwards. Suddenly he gave a 
shout of triumph. 

“Look here, Crewe.” 

He had come to a standstill at a tree which stood a 
few yards on the downs away from the wind screen — a 
small stunted oak with low and twisted branches. Fair 
in the centre of its gnarled trunk was a small hole, 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 251 

which Gillett was hacking at with a small penknife. 
As Crewe reached his side, he triumphantly extracted a 
bullet which had been partly flattened by contact with 
the tree. 

"‘By Jove!” he exclaimed. ‘‘What a piece of luck! 
What a piece of luck I” 

He held the bullet in the palm of his left hand, 
turning it over and over with the penknife which he 
held in his right. He was so absorbed in his dis- 
covery, that he did not notice Crewe stoop and pick up 
some small object which lay in the grass a few yards 
from the tree. 


CHAPTER XXII 


Crewe and Marsland sat at a table in Sir George 
Granville's library with the cryptogram before them. 
The detective was absorbed in examining it through a 
magnifying glass, but Marsland kept glancing from the 
paper to his companion’s face, as though he expected 
to see there some indication of an immediate solu- 
tion. Finally he remarked in a tone which suggested 
he was unable to control his impatience any longer : 

^‘Well, what do you make of it?” 

‘'Not very much as yet,” replied Crewe, putting 
down the magnifying glass, “but there are one or two 
points of interest. In the first place, the paper has 
been cut with a pair of scissors from the fly-leaf or 
title-page of an old book — an expensive book of its 
period, of the late fifties, I should say — but the writing 
is of much later date. These facts are obvious, and do 
not help us much towards a solution of the contents.” 

“They may be obvious to you, but they are not so 
obvious to me,” said Marsland, taking the paper into 
his hands and looking at it thoughtfully. “I suppose 
you judge the sheet to have been taken from an old 
book, because it is yellow with age, but why an ex- 
pensive one of the fifties? And how do you know it 
was cut out with a pair of scissors? Again, how do 
you know the writing is of a much later date than 
the book? The ink is completely faded.” 

35 ? 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 253 

“The smooth yellow, and glossy surface of the blank 
side of the paper indicates conclusively that it is the 
title-page or fly-leaf of a good class book of the fifties. 
You will not find that peculiar yellow colour — which 
is not the effect of age — and velvety Teel’ in books 
of a much later date. The unevenness of the cut 
proves that the sheet was taken from the book 
with a pair of scissors; haven’t you ever noticed 
that nobody — except, perhaps, a paperhanger — can cut 
straight with a pair of scissors? If it had been cut 
with a knife it might have slanted a little, but it would 
have been straighter : a knife cut is always straighter 
than the wavering cut of a pair of scissors directed by 
the eye. The faded ink proves nothing: inferior ink 
such as is sold in small village shops — from where the 
ink at Cliff Farm was probably procured — will fade in 
a few days; it is only the best ink that retains its 
original colour for any length of time. But the char- 
acter of this writing indicates to me that it was written 
with a particular kind of fine nib, which was not in- 
vented till after 1900.” 

“Can you make anything of the figures and letters on 
the paper ?” asked Marsland. 

“That is where our difficulties commence. We have 
to ascertain the connection between the figures and the 
letters and the circle ; to find out whether the former 
explain the latter or whether the circle explains the 
figures and the letters. If the figures and the letters 
are a cryptogram we ought to be able to find the solu- 
tion without much difficulty. The circle, however, is 
a remarkable device, and it is difficult to fathom its 
meaning without something to guide us. I thought at 


254 the mystery OF THE DOWNS 

first it might have been capable of some masonic in- 
terpretation, but now I doubt it. The most likely 
assumption is that the circle and the lines in some way 
indicate the hiding place of the money.'* 

“By geometry?” suggested Marsland, closely ex- 
amining the circle on the paper. 

“I think not. It is hardly likely that the old farmer 
who concealed the treasure would be versed in the 
science of geometry. He may have drawn the circle 
to indicate a certain place where he had concealed the 
money, and added the two lines to indicate the radius 
or point where it was to be found.” 

“Local gossip declares that the old man hid his 
money somewhere in the landing-place or old boat- 
house, where it is covered at high tide, and that his 
ghost watches over it at low tide to prevent anybody 
stealing it. There are stories of treasure-seekers hav- 
ing been chased along the sands almost to Ashlingsea 
by the old man’s ghost. The villagers give the land- 
ing-place and that part of the coast road a wide berth 
at night in consequence.” 

“I do not think the old man hid his money in the 
boat-house or landing-place,” said Crewe. “He would 
have known that the action of weather and tide would 
make such a hiding-place unsafe. He would look for 
a safer place. He has almost certainly hidden it some- 
where about the farm, and the circle and the letters 
and figures will tell us where, when we discover their 
meaning.” 

Crewe opened his notebook and commenced to make 
some calculations in figures. Marsland meantime oc- 
cupied himself by looking at the circle through the 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 255 

magnifying glass, and in counting the figures in its 
circumference. 

“Perhaps these marks in the circle represent paces,** 
he said, struck by a new thought. “Suppose, for in- 
stance, that the old man measured off a piece of 
ground with a tape measure fastened to some point 
which would represent the pivot or centre of his circle. 
He may have fastened the end of his tape measure 
to the well pump in the bricked yard, and walked round 
in a circle holding the other end in his hand, sticking in 
pegs as he walked. The top figure inside the circle — 
1 50 — may mean that the circle is 1 50 yards in circum- 
ference. Within the radius of the circle he buries his 
money, makes a drawing of the circle of figures and the 
remaining figures to indicate its whereabouts, and then 
removes the cord and pegs.’* 

“Ingenious, but unlikely,” commented Crewe. “For 
one thing, such a plan would need compass points to 
enable the searchers to take their bearings.” 

“North or south may be indicated in the crypto- 
gram — when we discover it,” said Marsland. 

“No, no,” said Crewe, shaking his head. “Your idea 
is based on treasure-hunt charts in novels. My ex- 
perience is that in real life people do not go to much 
trouble in hiding money or valuables; they put them 
away in some chance place or odd receptacle which 
happens to appeal to them, and where I think they 
really have a better chance of remaining undiscov- 
ered for years than in a more elaborately contrived 
hiding-place. In the Farndon missing will case, in- 
volving one of the largest estates in England, the will 
was found after the lapse of ten years concealed in the 
back of a book, where the deceased Lord Farndon had 


256 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

placed it in his latter days, when he imagined himself 
surrounded by thieves. If you open a large book 
about the middle it discloses an aperture at the back 
sufficiently large to conceal a paper, and when the 
book is closed there will be no sign. Lord Farndon 
concealed his will in one of the estate ledgers which 
was in constant use for some time after his death, and 
yet the will would probably have never been discovered 
if a mouse had not eaten through the leather back long 
afterwards, disclosing the hidden parchment. 

‘Tn the case of the stolen Trimarden diamond, the 
thief — a servant in the house — escaped detection by 
hiding the jewel in a common wooden match-box in a 
candlestick in his bedroom. The police searched his 
room, but never thought of looking into the match- 
box, and he got away with the diamond. If he had not 
bragged of the trick in a tavern he would never have 
been caught. As regards hidden money, people 
of miserly proclivities who are frightened to put their 
money into banks prefer a hiding-place under cover 
to one in the open. A hiding-place in the house seems 
safer to them, and, moreover, it enables them to look 
at their money whenever they feel inclined. I knew 
one miser who used to hide sovereigns in a bar of 
yellow soap — thrusting them in till they were 
hidden from view. The treasure of Cliff Farm is 
hidden somewhere in the farm, and the circle and the 
cryptogram are the keys. The explanation is hidden 
in the cryptogram, and I have no doubt that there is 
a very simple explanation of the circle — when we 
discover the cryptogram.” 

“I remember as a boy at school that we used to 
have endless fun solving cryptograms which appeared 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 257 

in a boys’ magazine,” said Marsland. “Figures were 
substituted for letters, and the interpretation of the 
cryptogram depended largely on hitting on the book 
from which the figures had been taken. The system 
was to put down the number of the page, then the 
number of the line, then the number of letters in the 
line which would form a word. The key book hap- 
pened to be a bound volume of the magazine in 
question : I guessed that, and won a prize. Another 
form of cryptogram for competition in the same jour- 
nal was a transposition of the letters of the alphabet. 
But that was easily guessed, from the repeated oc- 
currence of certain letters used to represent the 
vowels.” 

“I remember those boyish devices,” said Crewe, 
with a smile. “But true cryptography is more scien- 
tifically based than that. Systems of secret writing 
are practically unlimited in number and variety — and 
so are solutions. Human nature hates being baffled, 
and the human brain has performed some really won- 
derful achievements — at the expense of much effort 
and patience — in solving systems of cryptography 
which the inventors deemed to be insoluble. I have a 
weakness for cryptograms myself, and at one time col- 
lected quite a small library on secret writing, from the 
earlier works by Bacon and Trithemius, to the more 
modern works by German cryptographists, who have 
devised some remarkably complicated systems which, 
no doubt, were largely used by the Germans before 
and during the war for secret service work. It is 
astonishing the number of books which have been 
written on the subject by men who believed they had 
discovered insoluble systems of secret writing, and by 


258 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

men who have set out to prove that no system of secret 
writing is insoluble. Even the ancient Hebraic 
prophets used cryptography at times to veil their at- 
tacks on the wicked kings of Israel.” 

“How long do cryptograms — the more scientific, I 
mean — usually take to solve ?” 

“Some cryptograms can be solved in an hour ; others 
may take months.” 

“Do you think that this one will prove very diffi- 
cult ?” asked Marsland, pointing to the Cliff Farm plan 
as he spoke. 

“I cannot say until I have studied it more closely. 
The solution of any cryptogram depends first on 
whether you have any knowledge of the particular sys- 
tem used, and then on finding the key. It is quite 
possible, and frequently happens, that one is able to 
reconstruct the particular system of secret writing 
from which a cryptogram has been constructed, and 
then fail to find the key. A really scientific crypto- 
gram never leaves the key to guesswork, but gives a 
carefully hidden clue for the finder to work upon ; 
because most cryptograms are intended to be solved, 
and if the composer of the message left its discovery 
to guesswork he would be defeating his own ends. 
This particular cryptogram looks to me to be scien- 
tifically constructed; I cannot say yet whether it is 
possible to reconstruct it and solve it.” 

Crewe resumed his scrutiny of the plan, making 
occasional entries in his notebook as he did so. 

Marsland leaned back in an easy chair, lit a cigar, 
and watched him in silence. The detective’s remark 
convinced him that there was a wide difference between 
serious cryptography and the puzzle diversions of his 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 259 

schoolboy days, and he felt that he would be more of 
a hindrance than a help if he attempted to assist Crewe 
in his task of unravelling the secret of the hidden 
wealth whose hiding-place had been indicated by its 
deceased owner in the symbols and hieroglyphics on 
the faded sheet of paper. He reclined comfortably in 
his chair, watching languidly through half-closed eyes 
and a mist of cigar smoke the detective’s intellectual 
face bent over the plan in intense concentration. After 
a while Crewe’s face seemed to grow shadowy and 
indistinct, and finally it disappeared behind the tobacco 
smoke. Marsland had fallen fast asleep in his chair. 

He was awakened by a hand on his shoulder, and 
struggled back to consciousness to find Crewe standing 
beside him, his dark eyes smiling down at him. 

‘T am afraid I fell into a doze,” Marsland murmured 
apologetically, as the room and its surroundings came 
back to him. 

“You’ve been sleeping soundly for nearly two 
hours,” said Crewe, with a smile. 

“Impossible!” exclaimed Marsland. He took out 
his watch and looked at it in astonishment. “By Jove, 
it’s actually six o’clock. Why didn’t you wake me ?” 

“What for ? I became so absorbed in the old man’s 
secret that I had no idea of the flight of time till I 
looked at my watch a few minutes ago. He has 
evolved a very neat cryptogram — very neat and work- 
manlike. It was quite a pleasure to try and decipher 
it.” 

“Have you found out anything about it?” 

“I believe I have solved it.” 

“And what is the solution?” asked Marsland, now 
thoroughly awake. “Where is the money hidden ?” 


26 o the mystery of THE DOWNS 


“Now you are going too fast,” said Crewe. “I said 
I believed I have solved the secret. In other words, 
I believe I have hit on the old man’s cryptogram, and 
the key which solves it, but I have deferred applying 
the key till I awakened you, as I thought you would 
like to share in it” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


Crewe went to the table and picked up the plan. 

'‘My first impression was that the circle of figures 
represented some form of letters of the alphabet ar- 
ranged on what is called the cardboard or trellis cipher, 
in which a message is concealed by altering the places 
of the letters without changing their powers. Such 
messages are generally written after the Chinese fash- 
ion — upwards and downwards — ^but there is no reason 
why a circle should not be used to conceal the message. 
In this case I did not expect to find a message hidden in 
the circle, but rather, the key to the solution of the 
letters above the circle, which, I was convinced, formed 
the real cryptogram. 

“The recurring T’s and M’s in the top line seemed 
to indicate that it was some form of changed letter 
cipher, complicated by having to be read in connection 
with the figures in the circle, which represented other 
letters of the alphabet. The numbers, representing an 
ascending series from 6 to 89, with one recurring 
6, suggested the possibility of this form of cryp- 
togram having been used. The numbers in the 
centre suggested a sum, which, when done, would 
throw some light on the arithmetical puzzle in the 
centre of the circle by division, subtraction, or multi- 
plication. 


261 


262 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


‘T worked for a solution on these lines for some 
time, but ultimately came to the conclusion that the 
solution did not lie within them. I am not an arith- 
metician, but my calculations told me enough to make 
me realize that I was on the wrong track. 

‘T next attempted to ascertain if the two mysterious 
messages — the lines on the top and the circle of 
figures — were two separate messages read indepen- 
dently of one another. I did not think they were, but 
I determined to put it to the test. Obviously, if they 
were, the top line was merely a changed letter cipher, 
and nothing more. These are usually easy to decipher 
because of the frequency with which certain letters 
recur. In English the letter that occurs oftenest is 
E, then T, then A, O, N, I, then R, S, H ; the others 
in lessening frequency down to J and Z, which are the 
least used letters in the English alphabet. The recur- 
ring letters in our cryptogram are T’s and M’s. Using 
these as a basis to give me the key, I tried all likely 
combinations on the changed letter basis, but without 
success. 

“I came back to my original idea that the figures 
in the circle were the solvent of the line of letters 
above, and concentrated my efforts in attempting to 
discover their meaning. I finally came to the conclu- 
sion that the figures represented the pages or lines of 
some book.” 

'‘Like the cryptograms I used to solve when I was 
at school,” suggested Marsland, with a smile. 

“Rather more difficult than that. In that form of 
cryptogram rows of figures are turned into words once 
you hit on the right book. This cryptogram is much 
more ingenious, for it consists of three parts — a line 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 263 

of meaningless letters and a circle of equally meaning- 
less figures, with other figures within it, and some plain 
English verses of Scripture, the whole probably inter- 
dependent. If the circle of figures represented some 
book necessary to the solution of the whole crypto- 
gram, the first thing to find out was the book from 
which the figures had been taken. I had not much 
difficulty in arriving at the conclusion that this book 
was a large brass-bound family Bible I saw at Cliff 
Farm.” 

‘T suppose the texts on the bottom of the sheet sug- 
gested that idea to you ?” said Marsland. 

Crewe shook his head. 

“Fve learnt to mistrust guesswork,” he said. *Tt 
would be a jump at random to come to the conclusion 
that the cryptogram had been drawn on the fly-leaf of 
a Bible because it contained some Scripture texts. 
There is no connection between the facts. In fact, it 
seemed unlikely to me at first that a religious man like 
the old farmer would have mutilated his family Bible 
for such a purpose. I was inclined to the view that 
he had taken a fly-leaf from one of his Leisure Hour 
bound volumes, which at the farm range from i860 
to the early seventies — a period of years when this 
kind of glossy thick paper was much used for fly-leaves 
by English printers. But while I was examining the 
sheet through the magnifying glass I detected this 
mark on the edge, which proved conclusively to me 
that the cryptogram had been drawn on the fly-leaf of 
the family Bible. Have a look at it through the glass 
■ — ^you cannot detect* it with the naked eye.” 

Crewe held the sheet edgeways as he spoke, and 
pointed to one of the outer corners. Marsland gazed 


264 the mystery OF THE DOWNS 

intently through the glass, and was able to detect a 
minute glittering spot not much larger than a pin’s 
point. 

'T see it,” he said, relinquishing the glass. ^‘But I 
do not understand what it means.” 

'Tt is Dutch metal or gold-leaf. The book from 
which this sheet was cut was gilt-edged. That dis- 
poses of the volumes of Leisure Hour and other bound 
periodicals, none of which is gilt-edged. When I 
was looking at the books at the farm I noticed only 
two with gilt-edged leaves. One was the big family 
Bible, and the other was a large, old fashioned 
Language of Flowers. But this sheet could not have 
been cut from Th^ Language of Flowers” 

‘‘Why not?” 

“Because it has two rounded corners. As a rule, 
only sacred books and poetry are bound with rounded 
corners. In any case, I remember that The Language 
of Flowers at the farm is square-edged. Therefore 
the sheet on which the cryptogram has been drawn was 
cut from the Bible. 

“The next question that faced me was how the num- 
bers had been used : they did not represent the numbers 
of the pages, I was sure of that. The Bible is a book 
in which figures are used freely in the arrangement 
of the contents. The pages are numbered, the chap- 
ters are divided into verses which are numbered, and 
there is a numbered table of contents at the beginning 
of each chapter. Obviously, the Bible is an excellent 
book from which to devise a cryptogram of numbers 
owing to the multiplicity of figures used in it and the 
variety of ways in which they are arranged. I found 
both a Bible and Prayer Book in the bookshelves, here, 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 265 

and set to work to study the numerical arrangement 
of the chapters, the divisions of the verses, and the 
arrangement of figures at the head of the chapters.” 

'‘It was while I was thus engaged that I remem- 
bered that at the beginning of the authorised version of 
the Bible is inserted a table of the books of the Old and 
New Testaments, the pages on which they begin, and 
the number of chapters in each. Here was 
the possibility of a starting-point, sufficiently un- 
usual to make a good concealment, yet not too re- 
mote. I turned to the table, and, on running my 
eye down it, I saw that the Psalms, and the Psalms 
alone, contain 150 chapters. Now, the first line 
of central figures in the cryptogram is 150. I was 
really fortunate in starting off with this discovery, be- 
cause otherwise I might have been led off the track by 
the doubling and trebling of the 3 in the second line of 
central figures, and have wasted time trying to fathom 
some mystic interpretation of the 9 — a numeral which 
has always had a special significance for humanity : the 
Nine Muses, the Nine Worthies, ‘dressed up to the 
nines,’ and so on. But with 150 as the indication that 
the cryptogram had been composed from the Book of 
Psalms, it was obvious that the next line of numerals 
in the centre directed attention to some particular por- 
tion of them. As there are not 396 verses in any chap- 
ter of the Psalms ” 

“Just what I was going to point out,” broke in Mars- 
land. 

“Quite so. But it was possible that 396 meant Psalm 
39, 6. Therefore I turned to the thirty-ninth Psalm. 
Verse six of that Psalm reads : 


266 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


'' ‘Surely every man walketh in a vain shew : surely 
they are disquieted in vain : he heapeth up riches, and 
knoweth not who shall gather/ ” 

“Appropriate enough,’’ commented Marsland. 

“There remained the final 6, under the 396, to be 
explained, before I was able to start on the table which 
had been used to build up the cryptogram. The fact 
that the figures in the outside circle start at 6 indicated 
that there was some connection between it and the 
inner 6. I came to the conclusion that the inner 6 
meant one of two things : either the designer preferred 
to start from the number 6 because he thought the 
figure I was too clear an indication of the commence- 
ment of his cryptogram, or else he made his start from 
the sixth letter of the text. I thought the former the 
likelier solution, but I tried them both, to make sure. 
The first five figures on the latter solution gave me a 
recurring Y, which indicated that I was on the wrong 
track because it was essential there should be no re- 
curring letters. There are no recurring letters in the 
other key, as the table shows : 

6 7 8 9 10 II 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 

Surely every man 

123456 7 8 9 10 II 12 13 14 

20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 

walketh in a vain 

15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 

34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 

shew: surely they 

29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 

48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 

are disquieted in 
43 44 45 46 47 48 49 5o 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 267 

63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 

va in: he heapeth 

58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 

76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 

up riches and 

71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 

87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 

knoweth not who 
82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 

100 loi 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 no 

shall gather 

95 96 97 98 99 100 loi 102 103 104 105 

‘‘The circle of figures taken in their ascending or- 

der and starting with the second six, run thus: 

6, 8, 9, 10, II, 13, 17, 19, 20, 21, 23, 25, 26, 27, 
39, 51, 54, 72, 80, 89. 

Now, assuming that my interpretation of the solitary 
six in the circle is correct — that the old man started 
from six because he thought the use of the figure one 
gave away too much — we will substitute for these fig- 
ures the letters which appear underneath them in the 
table. The substitution gives us the following row of 
letters : 

SRELYVMNWAKTHIUDQPCOS 
“This is the line of letters from which we will en- 
deavour to reconstruct the old man’s cryptogram. We 
can, I think, go forward with the assurance that they 
are the actual letters represented by the cryptogram, 
for several reasons. There are no recurring letters, 
and they represent every letter in the text in consecu- 
tive order, with three exceptions which are capable of 
a simple explanation. The U has been taken 
from the second ‘surely’ instead of the first, to mis- 
lead the solver. Otherwise you would have surely 


268 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


for the first five numbers, which would be too clear 
an indication. The same reason exists for making A 
the tenth letter instead of the eighth; which would 
reveal the word 'man.^ The final letter — the 'G' in 
‘gather’ — has been excluded, for a reason which I will 
presently explain.” 

“What about the second S — the final letter? Do you 
not call that a recurring letter ?” asked Marsland, who 
was closely examining the table the detective had pre- 
pared. 

“Not in the cryptographic sense. It is the first letter 
of the text repeated after the line had been completed 
without recurring letters. There is a special reason for 
its use. The old man has worked on what is called the 
keyword cipher, which is the most difficult of all ciphers 
to discover. This system consists of various arrange- 
ments, more or less elaborate, of tables of letters, set 
down in the form of the multiplication table, and from 
the table agreed upon messages are constructed whose 
solution depends on the use of some preconcerted key- 
word. The most scientific adaptation of this principle 
was constructed by Admiral Sir Francis Beaufort. In 
his system the letters of the alphabet are set down one 
under another from A to Z, then A is added to the line. 
The next line starts with B and runs to another B at 
the bottom. You continue till you have the whole 
alphabet set down in this fashion. From this table 
and an agreed keyword, which may consist of a proper 
name or a sentence of several words, you construct 
a cipher message.” 

“How ?” asked Marsland, in a tone of keen interest. 

“That is what I now propose to demonstrate to you, 
if, as I think, the old man constructed his cryptogram 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 269 

in accordance with this principle. I have come to the 
conclusion that he modified and adapted this system 
to his own ends, using the letters of the text from the 
Bible to conceal it better, and then made it more diffi- 
cult still by turning the letters into figures after the 
manner I have described. He has also made a slight 
but not uncommon variation from the Beaufort prin- 
ciple by striking out the ‘G’ in 'gather,' which would 
follow the ‘O' if every letter in the text was used once, 
and substituting the final S, instead of placing the ‘S' 
after ‘G.' But the clue that suggested to my mind 
that he had worked on this principle are the 
two figures 6 coming together at the top of the 
circle. In the substituted letters they form two S's. 
Now, why does he have two S’s when he carefully 
avoids recurring letters in the rest of the table ? And 
why did he insert the first S again, as represented by 
the figure 6, instead of taking the next S in this table ? 

“In pondering over these points I discovered, as I 
believe, the system of cryptogram he used to construct 
his secret. He wanted to make the cryptogram diffi- 
cult of solution, but at the same time he wanted to give 
some indication of the form of cryptogram he was 
using when his heirs came to search for the money. 
The recurring S indicates that he was working on a 
modification of the system I have explained, in which 
you add the first letter of your first column to the bot- 
tom, and continue on that system throughout the table. 
It is not much of a hint, because we have got to find 
the keyword before we can use the table, but by its 
help we will start with the assumption that the old 
man worked on the following table : 


2^0 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

S RELYVMNWAKTHI UDQ PC OS 
RELYVMNWAKTHI UDQP COSR 
ELYVMNWAKTHI UDQPCOSRE 
LYVMNWAKTHI UDQPCO SREL 
YVMNWAKTHI UDQPCOSRELY 
VMNWAKTHI UDQPCOSRELYV 
MNWAKTHI UDQPCOSRELYVM 
NWAKTHI UDQPCOSRELYVMN 
WAKTHI UDQPCOSRELYVMNW 
AKTHI UDQPCOSRELYVMNWA 
KTHI UDQPCOSRELYVMNWAK 
THI UDQPCOSRELYVMNWAKT 
HI UDQPCOSRELYVMNWAKTH 
I UDQPCOS RELYVMNWAKTHI 
UDQPCOS RELYVMNWAKTHI U 
DQPCOS RELYVMNWAKTHI UD 
QPCOS RELYVMNWAKTHI UDQ 
PCOS RELYVMNWAKTHI UDQP 
COS RELYVMNWAKTHI UDQPC 
OS RELYVMNWAKTHI UDQPCO 
S RELYVMNWAKTHIU DQPCOS 

'Tt is from this table, unless I am very much mis- 
taken, that he constructed the cipher at the top of the 
sheet,” said Crewe. 

Marsland examined the curious table of letters, 
with close scrutiny, from various points of view, 
finally reversing it and examining it upside-down. He 
returned it to Crewe with a disappointed shake of his 
head. 

'T can make nothing of it,” he said. 

“It is necessary for us to discover the keyword 
he worked on before we can make use of it,” said 
Crewe. “Once we get the keyword, we will have no 
trouble in deciphering the mysterious message. The 
keyword is the real difficulty in ciphers of this kind. 
It is like the keyword of a combination lock. Without 
it, you cannot unlock the cipher. It is absolutely insol- 
uble. Suppose, for example, he had picked a word at 
random out of the dictionary, and died without divulg- 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 271 

ing it to anybody, we should have to go through the 
dictionary word for word, working the table on each 
word, till we came to the right one.” 

“But that would take years,” exclaimed Marsland 
blankly. 

“Unless we hit on it by a lucky accident. That is 
why the keyword cipher is practically insoluble with- 
out knowledge of the keyword. It is not even neces- 
sary to have a word. A prearranged code of letters 
will do, known only to the composer of the crypto- 
gram. If he wanted anybody else to decipher his 
cryptogram, he would have to divulge to him not only 
the form of table he worked on but the code of letters 
forming the keyword.” 

“Well, I do not see we are much further forward,” 
said Marsland despondently. “Of course, it’s very 
clever of you to have found out what you have, but 
we are helpless without the keyword. The old man 
is not likely to have divulged it to anybody.” 

“You are wrong,” said Crewe. “He has divulged 
it.” 

“To whom?” 

“To this paper. As I said before, he did not want 
his cryptogram to be insoluble; he wanted his heirs 
to have his money, but he did not want it found very 
easily. You have forgotten the texts at the bottom of 
the paper. They have not been placed there for noth- 
ing. The keyboard is hidden in them.” 

“I forgot all about the texts— I was so interested 
in your reconstruction of the cryptogram,” said Mars- 
land. “As you say, he didn’t put the texts there for 
nothing, so it seems likely that he has hidden the key- 
word in them. But even now we may have some 


272 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

difficulty in finding it Do you propose to take the 
texts word for word, testing each with the table, till 
you find the right one ?” 

'That would take a long while,” said Crewe. 'T 
hope to simplify the process considerably. In fact, I 
think I have already discovered the keyword.” 

“You have!” exclaimed Marsland, in astonishment. 
“How have you managed that?” 

“By deduction from the facts in front of us — 
or perhaps I should say by reflecting on the hints 
placed in the texts. Isn’t there something about those 
texts that strikes you as peculiar?” 

Marsland examined them attentively for some time, 
and shook his head. 

“I’m afraid I’m not sufficiently well up in the Scrip- 
tures to notice anything peculiar about them. I should 
say they were from the Old Testament, but I couldn’t 
tell you what part of it.” 

“The texts are from the Old Testament, from Jere- 
miah XXV and Isaiah VH. They are remarkable for 
the fact that they represent two passages — the only 
two instances in the whole Bible — where the writers 
used cryptograms to hide their actual meaning. In the 
first instance the prophet, Jeremiah, living in dangerous 
times, veils his attack on the King of Babylon by writ- 
ing Sheshak for Babel — Babylon; that is, instead of 
using B B L, the second and twelfth letters of the 
Hebrew alphabet, from the beginning, he wrote Sh 
Sh K from the end — a simple form of cryptogram 
which is frequently used, even now. In the second in- 
stance the prophet Isaiah, working on a very similar 
form of cryptogram, writes Tabeal’ for ‘Remaliah.’ 

“Now, we are faced by two facts concerning the 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 273 

presence of these two texts on the paper containing the 
cryptogram. In the first place, the cryptogram was 
complete without the texts: for what purpose, then, 
could they have been at the bottom of the sheet except 
to give a clue to the discovery of that keyword with- 
out which no recovery of the hidden treasure was pos- 
sible, unless it was found by a lucky chance ? In the 
second place, the selection by the old man of the only 
two cryptographic texts in the Bible was certainly not 
chance, but part of a deliberate harmonious design to 
guide the intelligent searcher to the right keyword. 
He was evidently versed in cryptography, constructed 
this one as carefully as a mechanic putting together 
a piece of mechanism, fitting all the parts carefully 
into one another. The figures in the centre of the 
circle give the key to the outside figures : the outside 
figures are the key to the cryptographic table of let- 
ters from which the cryptogram is to be solved ; there 
remains the key to be found. It is not likely that the 
composer of such an ingenious cryptogram would leave 
the keyword to guesswork. 

“The whole thing is a Bible cryptogram from first 
to last: figures, letters, words, and texts. It is even 
drawn on a sheetj cut from the Bible. Why ? Such an 
act might be deemed irreverent in a deeply religious 
man like the old man was, but when we piece the 
thing together we find that he was actuated by a re- 
ligious spirit throughout. Not the least skilful part of 
his cryptogram is his concealment of the keyword in 
the text at the bottom. The text would convey noth- 
ing to most people, for very few people know any- 
thing about cryptograms, still fewer people would know 


274 the mystery OF THE DOWNS 

that these texts contain the only two cryptograms in 
the Bible. Therefore, in accordance with his harmo- 
nious design, it seems to me that the keyword should 
be found in the five alternatives of the cryptic texts : 
Babel, Babylon, Sheshak, Remaliah, or Tabeal. 

'‘Babel and Babylon may be discarded because 
there is no letter B in the cryptographic table, and 
it is essential that the keyword shall contain no let- 
ter which doesn’t also appear in the table. ‘Sheshak’ 
may also be discarded for the present as unlikely 
because of the awkwardness of the recurring ‘Sh’ 
in a keyword. There remain Tabeal and Remaliah. 
The tendency of the composer would be to use the 
longer word, because a long keyword is the better for 
the purpose. I think, therefore, we should first try 
whether Remaliah is the keyword we are in search 
of.” 

“By Jove, Crewe, that is cleverly reasoned out!” 
exclaimed Marsland, in some excitement. “Let’s put 
it to the test. How do we apply this keyword to the 
table?” 

“Easily enough. On this sheet of paper we will 
write down the cryptogram; and the keyword under- 
neath it, letter for letter thus: 

TYNMVRTTHS M 
REMALI AHREM 

“Now, the first word of the cryptogram is T. Look 
in the first column of the table for it, and then run 
your eye across the table, for the first letter of the 
keyword. When you have found it, look at the top 
of the column and tell me the letter.” 

“K,” said Marsland. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 275 

‘‘Very well, then. We put down ‘K' as the first 
word of the solution and proceed in like manner 
through the whole of the cipher. The second letter 
is Y — find it in the table, then look across for the 
second letter of the key E, and then to the top of the 
column. What letter have you?” 

“C,” said Marsland. 

“KC, then, are the first two letters of our solution, 
and we go on to the third, always repeating the 
same process. N in the first column, M across, and 
the top gives you?” 

“O,” said Marsland. 

“The next letter is M in the cryptogram and A 
in the keyword. What does the top of the column 
give you?” 

“L,” replied Marsland. “But I say, Crewe, do you 
think we are on the right track? K, C, O, L, is a 
queer start for a word isn’t it? I know of no word 
commencing like that.” 

“I may be mistaken, but I do not think so,” re- 
plied Crewe firmly. “Let us keep on till we’ve finished 
it, at all events.” 

They resumed their task, and ultimately brought 
out the letters : K, C, O, L, C, H, C, R, A, E, S. Mars- 
land gazed at the result in dismay. 

“By Jove, we’re on the wrong track,” he said rue- 
fully. “It is the wrong word, Crewe. These letters 
mean nothing; you’ll have to try again.” 

But Crewe did not reply. He was examining the 
result of his night’s labours closely. Suddenly he 
put down the paper with an unusual light in his eye. 

“No,” he said. “I am right, the old man was 
thorough to the last detail. He has given another 


276 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

clue to his heirs in the circle and the two lines. They 
represent a clock face. But the figures round them 
run the reverse way to clock figures. The crypto- 
gram reads backwards. Hold it up to that mirror, 
and see.’’ 

Marsland did so, and laid down the paper with a 
look of bewilderment. 

‘‘Search clock! The old grandfather clock at Cliif 
Farm!” he said. 


CHAPTER XXIVi 


As the car swept round the deserted sea-front and 
through the scattered outskirts of the town, Crewe 
gradually increased the going, till by the time Staveley 
was left behind, and the Cliif road stretched in front 
of them, his powerful car was* driving along at top 
speed. The night was not dark for the time of year ; 
the windings of the road were visible some distance 
ahead : from the cliffs the rollers of the incoming tide 
could be seen breaking into white froth on the rocks 
below. 

*Tt has occurred to me that, for a man who was 
afraid of a German invasion, old Lumsden selected a 
very bad hiding-place for his money,” said Marsland. 
'‘He could not have known of the reputation the Ger- 
man soldiers made for themselves in stealing French 
clocks in the war of 1870.” 

“Perhaps not,” replied Crewe. “But I do not think 
he intended to leave the money in the clock when 
the Germans came. If he fled from the farm he would 
have taken it with him. His object in hiding it in the 
clock was to have it constantly under his eye.” 

The car mounted the hill to the cutting through the 
cliff road near their destination, and as the road dipped 
downwards Crewe slackened the pace. Both of them 
were looking across towards the farm on the left. As 
it came into view Crewe exclaimed to his companion : 

“Did you see that?” 


277 


278 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

light!” said Marsland excitedly. 

*Tt is gone now; it was probably a match. There 
must be some one there. I wonder who it could be ?” 

“Perhaps it is Gillett. We will soon see.” 

“No, we will drive past. It may be some one who 
wants to escape being seen. We will run the car off 
the road a little way down past the farm, then ex- 
tinguish the lights and make our way back.” 

He increased the pace of the car so that if there 
was any one at the farm it would appear that the car 
was going on to Ashlingsea. They both kept their eyes 
on the house as the car sped past, but there was no 
repetition of the flash of light they had seen. Less 
than half a mile away Crewe shut off the engine, and 
carefully ran the car off the road on to a grassy path. 
He extinguished the lights and jumped out of 
the car. He took an electric torch from his overcoat 
pocket and after turning it on to see if it was in order 
he set off in the direction of the farm. 

“We will not keep to the road, as there may be 
some one on the watch,” he said. “Follow me, I 
know my way across the fields.” 

He clambered over the gate of a field and set off at 
a run, with Marsland following him closely. He led 
the way over ditches and across hedges and fences 
until they reached the meadow at the side of the farm. 
Before climbing the low, brick wall Crewe waited for 
Marsland. 

“You watch the front of the house while I go to 
the back. If you see any one challenge him in a loud 
voice so that I can hear you, and I’ll come to your 
assistance. If I want you I’ll call out.” 

They climbed the wall and dropped noiselessly on 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 279 

to the grass. Crewe waited until Marsland had taken 
up his station behind a plum-tree in the garden, and 
then crept towards the kitchen door. He stood out- 
side the door listening intently for a few minutes, but 
as he heard no sound he selected the right key from 
the bunch he had borrowed from Gillett, and turned 
the lock. He waited to see if the sound of the turn- 
ing lock had alarmed any one inside the house. Slowly 
he turned the handle, opened the door and stepped 
noiselessly into the kitchen. 

A few minutes later Marsland heard him approach- 
ing him from the back of the house. 

‘‘Come quickly,” he said. “Some one has been be- 
fore us and found the money, but he is coming back 
again.” 

Marsland silently followed Crewe along the side of 
the house to the kitchen, and into the room where the 
great grandfather clock stood. Crewe flashed the 
torch on it, and Marsland started back with a cry of 
astonishment. The wooden case had been smashed be- 
yond repair. It had been hacked and splintered with 
a heavy weapon, which had not only battered in the 
front of the case, but smashed the back as well. Pieces 
of the wood had been pulled off and flung about the 
room. About the bottom of the broken case several 
sovereigns were lying. 

“The treasure !” he cried. “It was here then. Has 
he got away with it?’^ 

“Most of it, but not all of it,” said Crewe. “See 
here!” He knelt down by the case, plunged in his 
hand, and drew forth a canvas bag which clinked as 
he held it up. “This is the sort of bag that banks 
use for holding sovereigns — the banks put a thousand 


28 o the mystery of THE DOWNS 

sovereigns into each bag and seal it up so as to render 
it unnecessary to count the coins every time the bags 
are handled. There are four of these bags still here.^* 

“But where are they hidden?” asked Marsland, in 
amazement. “Where did you find this one ? Wasn’t it 
lying on the floor when you came in?” 

“The old man devised a skilful hiding-place,” said 
Crewe. “He fitted the case with a false back, and 
stowed his treasure in between. Look here !” 

He flashed the light around the interior of the case, 
and Marsland, looking closely, saw that the back of it, 
which had been smashed, was a false one, skilfully let 
in about three inches in front of the real back. In the 
space between the two backs the eccentric old owner of 
Cliff Farm had concealed his treasure as he had 
obtained it from the bank. 

“It’s an ingenious hiding-place,” said Crewe. “He 
laid the clock on its face, took off the back, fitted his 
false slide into a groove, stacked in his money-bags, 
replaced the proper back, and then restored the clock 
to its original position. You see, he was careful to 
make the space between the false and the real backs 
so narrow that there was very little possibility of the 
hiding-place being discovered by chance or suspicion. 
Even the man who has forestalled us with the solu- 
tion of the cryptogram was unable to discover the 
treasure until he had recourse to the clumsy method 
of smashing up the clock. This is what he used to do 
it.” Crewe pointed to an axe lying near. “With 
that he smashed the case, found the treasure, and 
carried off what he could. He would be able to carry 
four of these bags at a time — two in each hand. He 
has left these four for another trip. How many trips 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 281 


he has already made I do not know, but probably more 
than one/’ 

*'He may be back again any moment,” said Mars- 
land, lowering his voice to a whisper. ''Hadn’t we bet- 
ter hide ?” 

"He won’t be back just yet,” said Crewe confidently. 

"What makes you so certain of that ?” 

"He was here when we saw the flash of light. That 
is less than half an hour ago. To walk from here 
with four of these bags to the cliff, down the path in 
the dark to the boat he has waiting for him would take 
more than half at»*^our.” 

"But what makes you think he has a boat ? Why do 
you feel sure he has come by sea?” 

"Because that is the better way to come if he wanted 
to escape observation. If he came by road he would 
have brought a vehicle and would have taken the 
whole of the treasure away in a few minutes. But in 
a vehicle he might be met along the road by some one 
who knew him.” 

"Have you any idea who it is?” asked Marsland. 

"Some one who has solved the cryptogram or got 
it solved for him,” said Crewe. "By making a tour 
of the second-hand bookshops in London he probably 
got in touch with some one who has made a study of 
cryptograms, and in that way got it solved. There are 
some strange human types in these big second-hand 
bookshops in London — strange old men full of unex- 
pected information in all sorts of subjects.” 

"But how did he get a copy of the cryptogram? 
Could he have got possession of the copy I found on 
the stairs?” 

"I think so.” 


282 ' THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


‘^How?’’ 

''Miss Maynard gave it to him.” 

"Miss Maynard!” echoed the young man. "How 
could she have got it? She left the house with me 
and did not come back. In fact, she was very much 
opposed to coming back when I suggested that we 
should do so in order to get it.” 

"If she had it in her possession at the house her 
opposition to your proposal to go back for it is quite 
reasonable. I think you said that after you found 
the dead body upstairs she rushed downstairs and 
waited outside for you. She had ample time to go 
into the room and take the cryptogram from the table 
where you placed it. Doubtless her main thought was 
that its presence might implicate Brett in some way.” 

"Then it is Brett who has taken this money and is 
carrying down the cliff to the boat ?” said Marsland ex- 
citedly. 

"Yes. Probably Miss Maynard is down at the boat 
keeping guard over the bags as he brings them.” 

"And you think he will come back here for the rest ?” 
asked Marsland. 

Crewe noticed the eagerness in the young man’s 
voice: it seemed as if Marsland was excited by the 
thought of meeting Brett. 

"He is not likely to leave £4,000 behind unless he 
knows the place is being watched.” 

"Let us go towards the cliffs and meet him,” de- 
clared Marsland impatiently. "To think that I am to 
meet him face to face, and here of all places.” 

"We might miss him in the dark, and he might get 
clean away.” 

"Where shall we hide ?” asked the young man, again 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 283 

sinking his voice to a whisper. “He may reach here 
any moment now.” 

“He came in by the front door. The lock has not 
been injured, so apparently he has a key. You hide 
in the room on the left — just inside, close to the door. 
I will hide in the cupboard underneath the staircase. 
When he reaches the clock he cannot escape without 
passing us. Give him time to get the money, and as 
soon as he has the bags in his hands ready to start off, 
we will both spring out at him.” 

Crewe watched Marslanc^ enter the sitting-room on 
the left and then opened the door of the cupboard be- 
neath the staircase and crouched down. The cup- 
board opened into the hall, and through the crack of 
the door Crewe was able to see into the room where 
the shattered clock was. The door of the room where 
Marsland was hidden also commanded a view of the 
interior of the room in which the clock stood. The 
stillness was so complete that Crewe could hear the 
watch in his pocket ticking off the ebbing moments. 
Once the distant yelp of a sheep-dog reached him, then 
there was another long period of stillness. Twice his 
keen ear caught a faint creaking in the old house, but 
he knew they were but the mysterious night noises 
which are so common in all old houses : the querulous 
creakings and complaints of beams and joists which 
have seen many human generations come and go. 

But, as the time dragged on without a sound to in- 
dicate that the thief was returning, Crewe found to 
his vexation that he had increasing difficulty in keeping 
his senses alert in that dark and muffled silence. The 
close and confined atmosphere of the cupboard, the 


284 the mystery OF THE DOWNS 


lack of air, his cramped position, compelled an uncon- 
querable drowsiness. 

Then he heard a sound which drove away his drow- 
siness — the sound of a key in a lock. He heard the 
door creak as it was pushed back and then came steps 
advancing along the hall, stumbling along noisily, as 
though their owner thought that the need for precau- 
tions ceased when the front door was passed : that 
once inside the house he was safe, and need not fear 
interruption. 

There was a scrape and a splutter, and a flickering 
flame in the hall; the thief had struck a match. 
Through the crack of the cupboard door Crewe 
watched the tiny blue flame grow larger, turn yellow, 
and burn steadily, and he could see the dim outline 
of a man’s back and a hand shielding the match show- 
ing transparent through the flame. The thief had 
struck his match with his face to the doorway. The 
outline of his other hand approached, and the light 
grew brighter — the intruder had lit a piece of candle. 
As it burnt up the man turned towards the clock, and 
Crewe saw the face of Brett for the first time. His im- 
pression was of a pair of hunted nervous eyes roving 
restlessly in a livid waxen mask, a tense sucked-in 
mouth. 

He saw no more. Apparently Marsland had been 
too excited to wait until the thief had the bags in his 
hands, for Brett started as though he heard a move- 
ment, and quickly extinguished his candle. There was 
a moment of intense silence, and then Crewe heard 
Marsland’s voice raised in a strange high-pitched 
scream that made it seem unfamiliar. 

“Powell, you traitor and murderer ! I am Marsland 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 285 

^=“Captain Marsland, I will kill you without sending 
you to trial.” 

Crewe had thrown open the door of the cupboard at 
the first sound of the voice, but before he could get on 
to his feet there was the deafening sound of a revolver 
shot, followed by the rush of feet and the fall of a 
body. 

The bullet had missed the thief, and Marsland, ad- 
vancing on him after firing, had been knocked over by 
Brett’s rush for the door. Before Crewe could reach 
him across Marsland’s prostrate form Brett had 
thrown open the door and was outside the house. 

Crewe dashed for the door in pursuit. He caught a 
glimpse of a fleeing figure, bent nearly double to shield 
himself from another shot, running down the gravel 
path at amazing speed. Then the figure was swallowed 
up in the night. 

Crewe followed, without waiting to find out how 
Marsland had fared. He failed to catch another 
glimpse of Brett, but had no doubt he would make for 
the path down the cliff, about a quarter of a mile away, 
Crewe, who had been a long-distance runner at school, 
and was in excellent training, knew that he would 
last the distance better than Brett. 

He caught sight of Brett again before half the dis- 
tance between the downs and the cliffs had been cov- 
ered — a fantastic flying figure bobbing into view 
against the sky-line for an instant as he ran across the 
crest of a little hill, and as suddenly disappeared again. 
But that brief glimpse of the fugitive revealed to 
Crewe that Brett had mistaken his course : he was run- 
ning too much to the right. 


286 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 


Crewe ran on steadily in a straight line for the path. 
When Brett discovered that he had run too wide he 
would ,have to curve back, taking almost a semicir- 
cular course before he reached the beginning of the 
path. Crewe’s course was the shorter — the cord to 
Brett’s bow, and would bring him to the path before 
Brett could possibly reach it. The detective slackened 
pace slightly, and cast a glance over his shoulder to 
see if Marsland was following him ; but he could not 
see him. 

Crewe reached the hidden path, and waited, listen- 
ing, by the bushes which concealed the entrance. Soon 
his quick ear caught the pad of footsteps, and as they 
drew nearer they were accompanied by the quick 
breathing of a man running hard. Then the form of 
Brett loomed up, running straight for the path. 

Crewe sprang at him as he came close, but the run- 
ner saw his danger in time to fling himself sideways. 
He was on his feet again in an instant, and made away 
along the edge of the cliff, bounding along with great 
jumps among the rocks from point to point and rock to 
rock. Crewe drew so close that he could hear Brett’s 
panting breath as he ran, but each time Brett with 
a desperate spurt put a few more yards between them 
again. Once he staggered and seemed about to fall, 
but he sprang up again and ran with the speed of a 
hare. 

They had reached the rocky headland which jutted 
into the sea a hundred yards or more by the danger- 
ous turn of the cliff road. Crewe slackened his pace 
to call out a warning to the man he was pursuing. 

“Look out or you will fall over the cliff !” he cried. 

Brett paused, turned irresolutely, and then began 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 287 

slowly to retrace his steps. But as he did so a figure 
appeared suddenly out of the gloom and dashed past 
Crewe towards him. 

'‘You dog, I have you !” screamed Marsland. "You 
cannot get away from me again.” 

"Look out, Marsland !” cried Crewe, springing after 
him. "You will both go over.” 

Marsland ran on without heeding, cursing savagely 
at the hunted man. Brett had fled away again at the 
sound of his voice, and Crewe could hear his gasping 
breath as he stumbled over the slippery rocks. The 
two figures appeared clearly against the sky-line for 
a moment as they raced towards the end of the head- 
land. Then the foremost disappeared over the cliff 
with a scream. Brett, endeavouring to double in his 
tracks at the edge of the headland, had slipped and 
gone over. 

Marsland was standing on the edge of the cliff, peer- 
ing down into the sea mist which veiled the water be- 
low, when Crewe reached his side. Crewe drew him 
back. 

"Come away if you don’t want to follow him,” he 
said. "We shall have to get the police out to look for 
his body, but perhaps the sea will carry it away.” 


CHAPTER XXVj 


The search for the body began in the morning, at 
low tide. Inspector Murchison had come from Stave- 
ley to superintend, and from the landing-place he and 
Sergeant Westaway directed the operations of the 
Ashlingsea fishermen who had been engaged to make 
the search. 

Some of the townspeople who had walked up from 
the town to witness the proceedings thought that the 
body would be swept out to sea and never recovered, 
but the fishermen, with a deeper knowledge of a treach- 
erous piece of sea from which they wrested their liv- 
ing, shook their heads. If the gentleman had fallen 
in near the deep water of the landing-place the un- 
dercurrent might have carried him out into the Chan- 
nel, but there were too many reefs and sand-banks run- 
ning out from the headland, and too many cross-cur- 
rents, to let a body be carried out to sea. 

They gave it as their opinion that the body would 
be found before high tide, either in one of the shallows 
near the big sand-bank, a quarter of a mile out, or in 
one of the pools between the reefs whose jagged, 
pointed edges showed above the surface of the sea 
nearer the headland. 

The sea lay grey and still under an October sky of 
dull silver. The boats, as they came from Ashlingsea, 
put in at the landing-place to receive the instructions 
288 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 289 

of the police officers standing there, and then started to 
search. There were two rowers in each boat, and 
standing at the stern was a man holding the rope to 
which the grappling irons were attached. Slowly and 
mechanically the boats were rowed out some distance 
to sea, and then rowed back again. The men in the 
stern watched the ropes in their hands for the first sign 
of tautness which would indicate that the grappling 
irons had hooked in to something. Frequently one 
of the irons caught on a piece of rock, and when this 
happened the boat had to be eased back until the irons 
could be released. The boats searching further out, 
near the sand-bank, used nets instead of grappling 
irons. 

Crewe, who had driven over in his car from Stave- 
ley, after watching this scene for some time, turned 
back to the road in order to put up his car at Cliff 
Farm. Marsland had not accompanied him. The 
young man had motored over with his uncle, who, af- 
ter hearing from his nephew a full account of the 
events of the previous night, had insisted on partici- 
pating in the search for the missing man. Sir George 
Granville, on arriving at the headland, had scrambled 
down the cliff with some idea of assisting in the search, 
and at the present moment was standing on the land- 
ing-place with Inspector Murchison, gesticulating to 
the rowers, and pointing out likely spots which he 
thought had escaped their attention. 

Crewe, on regaining his car, found Marsland lean- 
ing against it, contemplating the scene before him with 
indifferent eyes. He nodded briefly to the detective, 
and then averted his eyes. Crewe explained his inten- 
tion regarding the car, and Marsland said he might as 


290 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

well go down with him. He got up into the front seat 
with the same listlessness that had characterized his 
previous actions, but did not speak again till they 
reached the farm. 

At the house Crewe and Marsland met Detective 
Gillett, who had gone there to store his bicycle pre- 
paratory to watching the operations of the fishermen 
searching for the body. 

“I have had a pretty busy time since you came along 
to us last night,’' he said, referring to the visit of 
Crewe and Marsland to Ashlingsea police station to 
report the fall of Brett over the cliff. “We got the 
money — £ 12,000 altogether. There was £8, 000 in the 
motor-boat and £4,000 here in the bottom of the old 
clock case, as you said.” 

“What about the girl?” asked Crewe. “Was she 
there?” 

Detective Gillett looked in the direction of Marsland 
before replying. 

The young man, with the same air of detachment 
that had marked his previous actions, had wandered 
some distance down the gravel-walk, and was care- 
lessly tossing pebbles from the path at some object 
which was not apparent to the two men in the porch. 

“I found her searching along the cliffs with a lan- 
tern,” said Gillett, in a low voice. “She was looking 
for Brett ; she told me that she had heard a scream and 
she thought he must have fallen over accidentally. I 
didn’t enlighten her. Poor thing, she is half-demented. 
She has got it into her head that she is responsible for 
some document or paper which Brett had given into 
her safe-keeping, and which she handed back to him 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 291 

last night at his request before he went to the farm 
to look for the money.” 

“Doesn’t she know what is in the paper?” asked 
Crewe quickly. 

“Her mind is in such a state that it is useless to ques- 
tion her. She keeps repeating that it was to be 
opened in the event of his death. It was only after 
great difficulty I ascertained from her that she had 
given the paper back to Brett last night. I am anxious 
that Brett’s body should be recovered in order to as- 
certain what its contents are.” 

“I should think the girl would have a fair idea of 
the contents.” 

“I think so too, but she is not in a fit state to be ques- 
tioned at present, and may not be for some time. The 
strain has been too much for her. In my opinion she 
is in for a severe illness.” 

“Where is she now?” 

“At the station. Of course, I had to take her into 
custody on a charge of attempting to steal this money. 
Whether the public prosecutor will go on with the 
charge or whether he will bring any other charge of 
a more serious nature against her remains to be seen.” 

Marsland, who had abandoned his stone throwing, 
had strolled back to the porch in time to hear Gillett’s 
last remarks. 

“It is a strange thing to find a girl of her type in love 
with such a scoundrel,” he said. 

“Quite a common thing,” said Detective Gillett, 
speaking from the experience of the seamy side of 
life which comes under the attention of Scotland Yard. 
“There are some women brought up in good surround- 
ings who seem to be attracted irresistibly to scoundrels. 


292 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

You never know what a woman will do. By the by, it 
is a good thing, Mr. Marsland, that you did not hit 
him when you fired at him last night. If you had 
killed him I should have had to arrest you, and the 
case would have had to go to a jury. Of course, there 
is no doubt how it would have ended, but it would 
have been an unpleasant experience for you.’^ 

‘T shouldn’t have minded that,” was the young man’s 
answer. 

Gillett regarded this declaration as bravado, and 
merely continued : 

“As it is, you are virtually responsible for his death 
in frightening him over the cliff, but the law takes no 
account of that.” 

“I should prefer to have shot him,” said Marsland. 

“Ah, well, I must get away and see what they are 
doing,” said the Scotland Yard detective, who obvi- 
ously disliked Marsland’s attitude. “I suppose I’ll see 
you again during the day?” 

When he had gone off towards the cliffs Crewe 
turned to Marsland and said : 

“I am going to have another look at the place — now 
that this case is concluded.” 

He entered the house and Marsland followed him. 
The interior looked more sombre and deserted than 
ever. The fortnight which had elapsed since the trag- 
edy — during which time the place had been left un- 
tenanted — had intensified the air of desolation and 
neglect that brooded over the empty rooms, had thick- 
ened the dust on the moth-eaten carpets and heavy 
old furniture, and gave an uncanny air to the staring 
eyes of the stuffed animals which hung on the wall in 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 293 

glass cases — dead pets of dead occupants of Cliff 
Farm. 

Crewe and Marsland looked through the house, en- 
tered the room where the grandfather clock stood, 
and Crewe pointed out the mark of the bullet which 
Marsland had fired at Brett the previous night. In his 
excitement he had fired too high, and the bullet had 
gone into the wall about eight feet from the floor, be- 
tween two photographs which hung on the wall. One 
of these photographs was of James Lumsden, the ec- 
centric old owner of Cliff Farm, who had broken his 
neck by falling downstairs. The other was Frank 
Lumsden, whose dead body had been found in '.he 
house by Marsland thirteen days before. 

‘‘That was the second time I missed Brett,’’ said 
Marsland, staring at the bullet hole in the wall between 
the photographs. 

“The second time?” echoed Crewe. “Do you mean 
that he was the burglar at whom you fired a week ^ 
ago ?” 

“Yes. I came into the room just as he was getting 
out of the window. I caught only a glimpse of him 
but I knew him instantly. I had a presentiment that 
he was near and that is why I happened to be wearing 
my revolver.” 

“What was his object in breaking into the house?” 

“He wanted to be sure that I was the man he had 
to fear just as I wanted to be sure that he was the 
man I wanted to kill. An hour before I had broken 
into his rooms at 41 Whitethorn Gardens, for the pur- 
pose of making sure about him. I saw his photo- 
graph there, and that is all I wanted.” 

“And it was you and not he who was in the house 


294 the mystery OF THE DOWNS 

when Mrs. Penfield called out that the police were in 
the house?” 

'‘Yes, that was I. I didn’t understand why she called 
out, but it served as a warning to me that she expected 
him. And so when I got back to my uncle’s I got 
my revolver out of the drawer. The first I heard of 
him being in England was when Inspector Murchi- 
son told us, although I was prepared in a way after 
finding that Lumsden had been here. Murchison spoke 
of him as Brett, but I did not know him by that name. 
So to make sure I got Mrs. Penfield out of the house 
by a hoax on the telephone and broke into the place 
in her absence. I did not know that it was you who 
came back with her.” 

“But his object in breaking into your room was prob- 
ably to get some article of yours which would help 
to bring suspicion against you with regard to Lums- 
den’s death. No doubt it was he who took the glasses 
which were subsequently found in the well. As you 
lost a pair of glasses in the storm and arrived at the 
farm without them. Miss Maynard probably mentioned 
the fact to Brett. Did you tell her that you had lost 
your glasses that night?” 

“I forget. Oh, yes, I did ! I mentioned it when we 
were looking at the cryptogram on the stairs.” 

“He was certainly an enterprising scoundrel.” 

“Don’t you wish to know why I wanted to kill 
him?” asked the young man after a pause. 

“I do, very much.” 

“I feel that I must speak about it,” he said. “And 
you are the only man to whom I can. You heard Mur- 
chison tell us that Lumsden and Brett, as he called 
himself, had been tortured by the Germans but that 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 295 

they gave away no information. That is their ver- 
sion ; let me tell you the truth about them. Both of 
them belonged to my company in France. Lumsden 
had been under me for four or five months and I had 
nothing against him. He was a fairly good soldier 
and I thought I could depend upon him. Powell — or 
Brett — had come over with a recent draft. One night 
when I was holding a short advanced trench to the 
south of Armentieres I sent Lumsden and Brett out 
on a listening patrol. The trench we were holding was 
reached through a sap: it was the first of four or five 
that were being dug as jumping off places for an at- 
tack on the German trenches. 

‘Tt was just about midnight that I sent Lumsden 
and Brett out and they ought to have been back by 2 
a. m. It was the middle of summer and dawn com- 
menced about 3 a. m. Either they had been captured 
or had lost their way and were waiting for dawn. 
When it was light enough to see the landscape, two 
figures appeared on the parapet of a German trench 
in front about three hundred yards away. They were 
calling and gesticulating to us. At that distance it was 
impossible to make out what they were saying, but 
from their gestures we gathered that the Germans had 
deserted the trench and it was ours if we liked to go 
over and occupy it. 

'Tt came as such a surprise that none of us stopped 
to think; but if we had stopped no one would have 
thought of treachery. The men went over the parapet 
—every one of them. It was a race— they were laugh- 
ing and joking as to who should be there first. And 
when we were within forty yards or so there was a 
volley from rifles and machine guns. The bullets 


296 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

seemed to come from every quarter. The men were 
taken by surprise and they dropped almost before they 
had time to realize what had happened. I was one of 
the first to go down but it was only a bullet in the leg. 
As I lay where I fell I was struck by another bullet in 
the shoulder. Then I crawled to a shell hole for 
shelter. I found seven of my men there, all of whom 
had been hit. 

‘‘We were not there long before the Germans com- 
menced to lob hand grenades into the shell hole. How 
I escaped death I do not know : it was an awful experi- 
ence to see those murderous bombs coming down and 
to be powerless to escape from them. I saw several 
of my poor men with limbs blown off dying in agony, 
and from what I learned subsequently much the 
same thing had happened in other shell holes where 
men had crawled for shelter. Out of my company of 
82 — we were not at full strength, and I had only three 
second lieutenants besides myself — I was the only one 
to come through alive. And I lay in a state of semi- 
collapse in the shell hole for two days before being 
rescued when our men drove the Germans out of their 
trenches.’* 

“A dreadful experience,” said Crewe sympatheti- 
cally. 

“These two miserable loathsome creatures, Brett and 
Lumsden, to save their own lives, had beckoned my 
company into the trap. They had been captured by 
the Germans, and no doubt were tortured in order to 
make them do what they 4 id. But as British soldiers 
they should have died under torture rather than be 
guilty of treachery. The memory of how my poor men 
died without having a chance to defend themselves 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 297 

haunts me day and night. I hear their voices — their 
curses as they realized that they were the victims of 
a horrible act of treachery, their cries and moans in 
the agony of death.” 

He sat down on the upturned clock case and buried 
his face in his hands. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


^‘Am I the first man to whom you have told this 
story?’' asked Crewe, in a gentle voice. 

‘‘Yes,” said Marsland. “It is not a story that I 
would care to tell to many. It is not a story that re- 
flects any credit on me — my company wiped out 
through treachery on the part of two of my men.” 

“But when you came back to England, wouldn’t it 
have been better to have reported the matter to the 
military authorities and have had Brett and Lumsden 
tried by court martial?” 

“I did not know they were in England until I came 
down here : I thought that if they were not dead they 
were prisoners in Germany. I have no witnesses for 
a court martial, and after being off my head in the hos- 
pital for a couple of months I doubt if a court martial 
would believe my story. Counsel for the defence 
would say I was suffering from delusions. And it 
would have driven me mad if such a scoundrel as 
Brett had been acquitted by a court martial for want 
of evidence. Besides, the satisfaction of having him 
shot was not to be compared with the satisfaction of 
shooting him down myself just as if he were a dog.” 

“But it is a terribly grave thing to take human life — 
to send a man to his death without trial.” 

“I have seen so many men die, Crewe, that death 
seems to me but a little thing. If a man deserves 
298 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 299 

death, if he knows himself that he deserves it a hun- 
dredfold, why waste time in proving it to others? If 
I had shot Brett I should doubtless have had to stand 
my trial for murder. But if the police searched all 
over England could they have found a jury who would 
convict me if I saw fit to tell my story in the dock? 
Told by a man in the dock it would carry conviction; 
but told by a man in the witness-box at a court mar- 
tial it might not.’’ 

‘T believe there is some truth in that,” said Crewe, 
in a firm, quiet voice. “But it is a matter which must 
be put to the test.” 

Marsland stood up and fixed on him an intent gaze. 

“What do you mean ?” he said. “If Brett is dead he 
died by accident — ^by a fall over the cliff. The law 
cannot touch me.” 

The detective did not speak, but his eyes held the 
young man’s glance intently for a moment, and then 
traveled slowly to the portrait of Frank Lumsden on 
the wall. 

“I mean that,” he said slowly. 

“Do you know all?” Marsland asked, in a voice 
which was little more than a whisper. 

“I know that it was you who shot Frank Lumsden.” 

“Yes, I shot him!” The young man sprang to his 
feet and uttered the words in a loud, excited tone 
which rang through the empty house. “And so little 
do I regret what I have done, that if I had the chance 
to recall the past I would not falter— I would shoot 
him again.” 

“Sit down again,” said Crewe kindly. “Do not ex- 
cite yourself. You and I can discuss this thing quietly 
whatever else is to happen afterwards.” 


300 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

“How long have you known that I did it?” asked 
Marsland, after a pause. 

“It was not until yesterday that I felt quite certain. 
What annoys me — what offends my personal pride is 
that my impetuous young friend Gillett picked you out 
as the right man before I did. He was wrong in his 
facts, wrong in his deductions, wrong in his theories, 
and hopelessly wrong in his reconstruction of the 
crime. He had no more chance of proving a case 
against you than against the first man he might pick 
out blindfolded from a crowd, and yet he was right. 
True, he came to the conclusion that he was wrong 
when I put him right as to the circumstances under 
which the tragedy occurred, but that doesn’t soothe my 
pride altogether. If there is one lesson I have learned 
from this case, it is that humility is a virtue that be- 
comes us all. 

“But, after all, I do not think I have been so very 
long in solving the problem,” the detective continued. 
“It is only thirteen days since the tragedy took place, 
and from the first I saw it was a complicated case. I 
never ruled out the possibility of your being the right 
man after Brett and Miss Maynard tried to sheet home 
Lumsden’s death to you. I do not think she was fully 
in Brett’s confidence — in fact, it is fairly obvious that 
he would not tell her the story of his treachery. But 
he knew that you had shot Lumsden and she caught 
at his conviction without being fully convinced herself. 
Brett’s conduct was inconsistent with guilt. But it was 
consistent with the knowledge that Lumsden had met 
his death at your hands and that he himself would 
share the same fate if you encountered him. 

“I am under the impression that he reached Lums- 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 301 

den a few minutes after you rode away from the spot, 
and that Lumsden was then alive. Probably he was 
able to breathe out your name to Brett. The latter 
helped the dying man into the motor-car and started 
to drive back to Staveley for medical aid, and after 
passing the thatched cottage on the right he became 
aware that Lumsden had collapsed and was past hu- 
man aid. So he decided to take the body to the farm, 
and in order to disappear, without drawing immediate 
suspicion on himself, he tried to indicate that Lumsden 
was shot in the house. 

“Then he disappeared because he was afraid of you. 
If he had got you under lock and key he might have 
risked coming into the open and giving evidence against 
you. But I rather fancy that his intention was to get 
away to a foreign country with old Lumsden’s money, 
and then put the police on your track by giving the 
true circumstances under which Lumsden was shot.’^ 

“Did he write to you?’’ asked Marsland. 

“No.” 

“I was always afraid he would. What put you on 
my track?” 

“The conviction that you had warned this girl to 
clear out as Gillett had obtained some awkward facts 
against her. You were the only person who had any 
object in warning her, though Gillett thinks you had 
even less reason to do so than Brett. I regarded 
you merely as an average human being and not actu- 
ated by Quixotic impulses. I remembered that she 
had tried to sheet home the crime to you and therefore 
you had little cause to be grateful to her — so far I am 
in accord with Gillett. But if you knew that she had 
nothing to do with the tragedy, and if you felt that 


302 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

Gillett’s close questioning might lead to information 
from Brett which would tell against you, it was com- 
mon sense on your part to get her out of the way/’ 

“It is wonderful how you have divined my mind and 
the line of thought I followed,” said the young man. 
His even tones were an indication that he was regain- 
ing his composure. 

“Next, there was your attempt to kill Brett instead 
of helping me to capture him. That told against you. 
True, it indicated that you had what you regarded as a 
just cause of deadly hatred. But if you were under 
the belief that Brett had killed Lumsden it would 
have suited you better to capture him than to shoot 
him. Your shot at Brett showed me that you knew 
it was not Brett who had killed Lumsden, and also 
that you feared if Brett were arrested he would charge 
you with shooting Lumsden.” 

“Go on,” said the young man breathlessly. 

“There is little more to tell,” said Crewe. “I had 
to ask Gillett yesterday not to refer to the doubts I had 
expressed to him regarding Brett’s guilt. I was afraid 
he might do so in your presence and that would have 
put you on your guard. The final proof came when 
Gillett discovered the bullet in the tree where Lumsden 
fell. At the moment Gillett found the bullet I picked 
up these in the grass.” 

Crewe produced from his waistcoat pocket a pair of 
eye-glasses. 

“So that is where I lost them!” exclaimed Adars- 
land. “It never occurred to me before. I have no 
recollection of their dropping off — I suppose I was too 
excited to notice they had gone.” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 303 

‘'Your meeting with him was accidental?” said 
Crewe. 

“Quite. I had been out riding on the downs and 
when I struck the road I wasn’t sure which way I had 
to go to get home. I saw a man coming along the road 
and I rode up to him. It was Lumsden. I tell you, 
Crewe, he was terrified at the sight of me — no doubt 
he thought that I had been killed in France. As I was 
dismounting and tying up my horse he pleaded for his 
life. He grovelled at my feet in the dirt. But I 
didn’t waste much time or pity. I told him that he had 
earned death a hundredfold and that the only thing I 
was sorry for was that I could kill him only once. 
He sprang up the bank in the hope of getting away, 
but I brought him down with a single shot. I saw that 
he was done for and I left him gasping in the agony 
of death. I had no pity — I had seen so many men die, 
and I had seen my company of good men go to their 
deaths because of his treachery. 

'T rode back over the downs, and caring little which 
way I went I lost my way and was overtaken by the 
storm. Eventually I saw the farm and went there for 
shelter. And upstairs I found the dead body of this 
man Lumsden. It was the strangest experience of my 
life. I did not know what to think — I could not make 
out how the body had got there. And when Miss 
Maynard asked me to say nothing to the police about 
her having been there I thought it was the least I 
could do for her. I knew that whatever errand had 
brought her there she had nothing to do with his 
death.” 

There was a long pause during which the two men 
looked at one another. 


304 THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 

“You think that I had just cause for shooting him?” 
said Marsland. 

“I think you had no right to take upon yourself the 
responsibility of saying ‘The law will fail to punish 
these men and therefore I will punish them without in- 
voking the aid of the law !' ” 

“I do not regret what I have done. As I said be- 
fore, if I had to go through it again I would not hesi- 
tate to shoot him. Perhaps it is because I have lived 
so much with death while I was at the front that 
human life does not seem to me a sacred thing. These 
two men deserved death if ever men did.” 

“You believe that no jury would convict you?” 
said Crewe. 

“I do not see how a jury of patriotic Englishmen 
could do so. But I do not care about that. I have 
finished with my life ; I do not care what becomes of 
me. When I recall what I have been through over 
there in France, when I think of the thousands of 
brave men who have died agonized deaths, when I see 
again the shattered mutilated bodies of my men in the 
shell-hole with me — I want to forget that I have ever 
lived. All that remains to be done is that you should 
hand me over to the police.” 

“That is a responsibility which I should like to be 
spared,” said Crewe gravely. “I think we may leave 
it to Brett.” 

“To Brett!” exclaimed Marsland, springing to his 
feet again in renewed excitement. “Db you think he 
has escaped death ; do you think he has got away ?” 

“I feel sure he was killed. But if his body is re- 
covered the police will learn from it that it was you 
who shot Lumsden.” 


THE MYSTERY OF THE DOWNS 305 

“How will they find that out?” 

“The girl Maynard has told them that he had an 
important paper in his possession when he was 
drowned and that is why they are so anxious to re- 
cover the body. They do not know the contents of 
the document but it is an easy matter to divine them. 
Let us look at this matter in the way in which Brett 
must have looked at it after thinking it over carefully. 
He knew that you had shot Lumsden ; he knew that if 
he met you his life would not be worth a moment’s pur- 
chase. The shot you fired at him when he was breaking 
into your room at Staveley was an emphatic warning 
on that point, if he needed any warning. 

“Do you think that he would not take steps to 
bring his death and Lumsden’s death home to you in 
the event of his being shot down? If he had got out 
of the country, as no doubt he had hoped to do, he 
would have put the police on your track for shooting 
Lumsden. If the police recover Brett’s body, they will 
find on it a document setting forth Brett’s account of 
how Lumsden met his death. No doubt his and Lums- 
den’s treachery will be glossed over, but your share in 
the tragedy will be plainly put.” 

"I overlooked all this,” said Marsland quietly. “Let 
us walk across to the cliffs and see what they are do- 
ing.” 

They left the farm and walked slowly towards the 
cliffs, each immersed in his own thoughts. There were 
a few groups of people on the road, and another group 
at the top of the hill. Suddenly there arose a shout, 
and the people on the road started running towards 
the cliffs. 

“They’ve found it !” The cry of the people on the 


3o6 the mystery OF THE DOWNS 


beach below was carried up to the cliffs, and Crewe 
and Marsland, looking down, saw the fishermefi in one 
of the boats close to the cliff lift from the water the 
dripping, stiffened figure of a man which had been 
brought to the surface by the grappling irons. 


THE END 


HAMPSTEAD 

MYSTERY 

BY 

REES AND WATSON 

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